


Come the Inquisitor

by Ariella1941



Series: Champion and Commander [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Language, Lyrium Withdrawal, Married Couple, Married Sex, NSFW, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariella1941/pseuds/Ariella1941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miriam Hawke is in trouble...again. Two years after her disappearance, the former Viscountess of Kirkwall turns up in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, with no memory of how she survived the blast that killed the Divine and everyone else who attended. And on her right hand, a strange brand whose magic has burrowed deep inside her, a magic that can manipulate the Veil.</p><p>Now with the help of Cullen Rutherford, and Varric Tethras, along with a host of new allies, Hawke must use this power to close the Breach in the Fade, and discover who is behind all these horrific events.</p><p>Most people think there's no way she can succeed. Most people think it'll take a miracle. Most people haven't learned what everyone in Kirkwall knows:</p><p>Never bet against Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once More Unto the Breach

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece comes from an episode of _Babylon Five_ of the same name. While the plot is very different, the end theme fits both stories: what does it mean to be the right person, in the right place, at the right time.
> 
> Come the Inquisitor is episode 21 of Season 2, written by J. Michael Straczynski, the series creator.
> 
> The chapter title "Once more unto the breach" comes from Shakespeare's _King Henry V_ Act Three, Scene One, Line One.  
>  **King Henry**  
>  Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;  
> Or close the wall up with our English dead.  
> In peace there's nothing so becomes a man  
> As modest stillness and humility;  
> But when the blast of war blows in our ears,  
> Then imitate the action of the tiger. . . . 
> 
> This is the sequel to Old Friends, and is dedicated to InfinitelyStupid, my first commentator.
> 
> This first segment is **NSFW** at the end

The first thing Miriam Hawke noticed upon waking was the pain. Searing heat in the palm of her right hand, it burrowed into her arm, driving though muscle and bone like the roots of some horrid plant. She bit her lip in an effort not to scream, but the pain stopped only a moment after it began. Which allowed her to notice the second thing: she lay on a stone floor. A cold stone floor. A cold  _hard_ stone floor.

 _Stone floors are usually cold and hard, Miriam,_  she told herself, silently laughing at her ability to complain about the little pains in the wake of such a horrendous one. Having cataloged that little annoyance, she moved on to the third thing she’d noticed: she’d been clamped in irons. Not even Duke Prosper had put her in irons. Which, in hindsight, was a serious oversight on his part. Not that the irons really posed a problem, since the servant’s livery she wore had lock picks and throwing spikes sewn into the lining. But as she sat up the fourth, and most disturbing, thing made itself apparent.

The rasp of steel being drawn shattered the quiet of the room, and Hawke looked up to find herself surrounded by four guards. Each guard held a sword, its tip pointed at her. Now it wasn’t the most effective or practical stance, but it did make a _pointed_  threat. Miriam snorted again at the word play.  _At least I haven’t lost my sense of humor. My mind may have disappeared when I began this little enterprise, but my humor…_

Another sharp burst of pain ran through her, and as she bit her lip again, she tasted blood. It ceased after a moment, but this time Miriam was able to track the pain back to its source: a strange glowing scar, almost a brand, on her right hand.

One of the guards studied her carefully, then sheathed his sword and left. Within moments two women entered, presumably summoned by the guard. The first she recognized from Varric’s last letter. The second she had met three years ago in Kirkwall.

“Sister Nightingale. Please, make yourself comfortable,” Hawke said to the personal agent of Divine Justinia V, Exalted Servant of the Maker and head of the Chantry. “I do apologize for the accommodations.”

“Enough! We are not here to suffer your wit, Champion. You will answer our questions, and you will do so  _now_!” the first woman growled with barely concealed rage.

“Or what? You’ll continue my torture? This thing on my hand is not enough?” Hawke shoved the glowing brand at the two women. “I’ve faced worse than this, Seeker. I’ll die before I’ll tell you a damned thing.”

That stunned them and they looked at one another in shock. “You think  _we_  did this to you?” Cassandra Pentaghast of the Seekers of Truth asked incredulously.

“Who else could have done it? I was in the back halls of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and now I’m here. There’s nothing in between, so where else should I look?”

Cassandra looked incensed and a vicious comment hovered on her lips, but Leliana put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “We are not to blame for your mark, Hawke. You bore it when you were found in the ruin of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“What ruin? What has happened that you aren’t telling me!”

Cassandra eyed Hawke with distrust. “There was an explosion at the Conclave. All who attended are dead, including Most Holy.”

Hawke’s heart stopped. She had to ask, had to know if two of the most important people in her life were still alive.

“Varric?” she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.

Cassandra made a disgusted sound, much less at the question but at the thought of the dwarf. “He was in Haven when the explosion happened.”

Hawke nodded, and tried to think of the best way to phrase this next question. This one had greater consequences should she reveal too much. “I understand that Knight Commander Cullen was here as well. He took a position with you, Seeker?”

“He did, and he lives, though I’m surprised you would ask after him.”

This was dangerous ground, so Hawke was forced to do something she rarely did: choose her words with care. “He is a friend, and he supported me against Meredith.” She took a breath, and looked at the Seeker. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me, Hawke. This does nothing to change your current circumstance.”

“Which means people, including you, think I did it because what? Kirkwall?” Hawke asked, horrified. “I executed Anders for his destruction of the Chantry! How could any rational individual think I would turn around and do something similar?”

 Leliana sighed, “Unfortunately there are few rational people about at the moment, Champion. You survived where others did not. That along with the mark on your hand… Well, you will understand the connection soon enough.” She studied Hawke for a moment. “If you can give us something, anything, that might point us toward the true culprit; it would go far in clearing your name.”

Hawke nodded, and once again considered her words. She was still on dangerous ground. “Few people know there were several assassination attempts after I became Viscountess. Varric and I agreed that even if I stepped down they wouldn’t stop so there was no choice but to go on the offensive. I had a lead in Ferelden but it dried up when Varric’s letter about the Conclave reached me through his network.” She studied the two women, looking for some sign they might just believe her and then continued. “I decided that helping the Divine might kill two birds with one stone.”

“Why did you not come to us?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she almost believed. Almost.

“I didn’t know Sister Nightingale was in attendance and I wasn’t sure if I could trust you, Seeker, since my would be assassins had connection to the Templars.”

The woman’s anger scrawled across her face, but Leliana stepped in yet again. “So you thought to  _sneak_  into the Conclave, yes?”

“People rarely look at servants, Sister. It wasn’t hard to obtain a livery and enter unnoticed,” Hawke smiled slightly at the horror on both women’s faces. Neither of them had considered the potential for a security breach. “I’d heard that Most Holy had a meditation chamber in the back halls of the Temple, so I began my search there, but I had no luck. I was about to swallow my pride and find you, Seeker, when…”

“When what?” Leliana asked.

Hawke’s eyes glazed over as she tried to think. It was if there was a hole, a void, in her memories. There was an almost itch as vague sensations came back to her. “I… can’t remember anything clearly. Just the sensation of being chased, and someone with me. A woman maybe?”

“A woman?” Leliana asked.

“She reached out to me, I think, and then… Then I woke here.” Hawke shook with rage. The sensation of emptiness made her want to hurt someone; preferably the one who did this to her in the first place. “There’s nothing else,” she said through gritted teeth.

Neither woman said a word for a long moment and then Leliana spoke.

“Take her to the rift, and let us see.” And with that cryptic pronouncement she left the prison. Cassandra eyed her for a moment then gestured to one of the guards who stepped outside. He returned after a moment with a beat up leather jerkin, leather trousers, and boots. The clothes were deposited on the floor in front of her as another guard undid her chains.

“Dress.” Cassandra ordered.

Hawke looked at her incredulously, “You  _are_  joking, correct?” The Seeker’s face was stone and Hawke sighed. “Of course you aren’t.” She stripped down to her breast band and small clothes then began to pull on the battered armor. The poor fit of what was obviously second or even third hand armor made Hawke wish for her own gear. She’d left her rather distinctive armor and her weapons in a small cave further down the mountainside. The jerkin gapped, the trousers itched, and the boots pinched her toes. It would keep her alive though, more than cloth or her own skin.

“There, are you happy now, Seeker?”

The woman just looked at her with cold eyes and pulled out a length of rope. “Your hands, Champion.”

“Oh,  _Maker’s breath_ , Seeker! Do you honestly think I’m going to run now? Knowing how many people want my head?”

“You’ve taken stranger risks before, Hawke, and I would not be added to the list of fools who underestimated you.” Cassandra said in a dangerously patient tone. “Your hands.”

Hawke did as she was told, all the while muttering invectives under her breath. The Seeker bound her hands, then gestured for her to follow. They moved up the stairs and into Haven’s Chantry.

Hawke decided it was time to prod Cassandra, and see what else the Seeker had not been telling her. “So this ‘rift’ the good Sister mentioned?” she asked casually.

“It will be easier to show you, Champion.” With that remark, the Seeker opened the main doors and ushered her outside.

It took Hawke several seconds for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she realized that the world was bathed in an eerie green light. The strange cast triggered a memory. The last time she’d seen something like this was when she’d been sent into the Fade to rescue a younger Dreamer from demons who were haunting him. Another burst of pain blotted out all thought, and as Hawke tried to steady herself, she looked up. Suddenly Leliana’s cryptic comment about rifts made a sick sort of sense.

Cassandra watched the Champion’s face and nodded. She then turned to look at the huge hole in the sky. “We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the Fade, and it is not the only such rift. It is, however, the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“How can an explosion, however powerful, breach the Veil?” Hawke asked in horror.

“We do not know, but it continues to grow with each passing hour. If we do not stop it, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Hawke wasn’t sure what to say when yet another wave of pain crashed over her at the advance of the brand’s magic.

Cassandra watched for a moment as Hawke recovered. The Seeker’s face was closed, but maybe, just maybe Hawke saw a little bit of humanity in those eyes.

“Every time the Breach expands your mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may also be the key to stopping this.”

Hawke’s blue eyes met the Seeker's brown ones, as Cassandra considered her for a moment. The Champion of Kirkwall stood there, tall and unbowed even in the face of debilitating pain and threat of execution. Her short black hair was ruffled by the wind, but it did nothing to lessen the woman’s magnetism. Cassandra had always wondered how the Champion inspired loyalty in such a disparate group of people. There had been no Blight, no common cause binding them. It had simply been Hawke. Now, standing in her presence, the Seeker understood, which made this all the more difficult.

“You think this  _thing_  can close it,” Hawke stated looking down at the glowing mark on her hand.

“It is the theory, yes.” Cassandra replied. “It is our only chance… And yours.”

Hawke shook her head in exasperation, “You don’t need to hold me at sword point, Seeker. I would have happily done it if you’d just asked.”

Cassandra simply nodded, and said, “Follow me, and stay close.”

They made their way down the dirt track that served as the main thoroughfare for the village of Haven, and Hawke tried to keep her eyes forward as the villagers glared at her.

 _I don’t think I’ve ever had_ this many  _people wanting me dead all at once_ , Hawke thought to herself.  They walked through the village and onward to the bridge that marked the beginning of the Pilgrim’s Path.

As the gate opened to allow them entrance to the path, Cassandra spoke.

“We have yet to learn Most Holy’s last lesson,” the Seeker said, almost speaking more to herself than to Hawke. “We lash out like the sky, but we must look beyond ourselves.” She stopped just past the gate and cut the rope binding Miriam’s hands. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.”

“Thank you, Seeker,” replied Hawke as they crossed the first marble span. Few looked up at them as it was crowded with the living seeking shelter in the village, and the dead, being readied for their pyres. As they passed the rows of corpses being prepared for final rest, Hawke murmured the words of the Canticle of Trials:

_Though all before me is shadow,_

_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._

_For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

The Seeker must have heard at least snatches of the prayer as she shot Hawke a glance, but said nothing. The silence lay heavily between them until another pulse from the Breach set the brand on fire. All Hawke wanted to do is fall to her knees and weep, but she refused to give whoever had done this to her the satisfaction. Instead the sound that came from her was a hunting cry that would do her namesake proud. When the pain passed, Cassandra laid a hand on her arm. “We must keep going, as the larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we will be forced to face.”

Hawke nodded as she broke out into a jog, with the Seeker matching her stride.

“How did I survive the blast?” Hawke asked, needing to know more about her situation, and wanting to forget the lines of corpses and angry faces.

“We are…uncertain,” Cassandra replied in a guarded voice. “They said you…stepped out of a rift, and fell unconscious. They say there was a woman in the rift behind you, though no one knows who she was. Everything further in the valley was laid waste. Including the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but you will see soon enough.”

The pair had stepped out onto another bridge when  _something_ fell from the Breach. Whatever it was shattered the bridge sending the two women tumbling to the frozen river below. Stars danced before Hawke’s eyes for a moment. Once they cleared, she stood and was about to go to Cassandra when another burst fell from the Breach. The form resolved into something Hawke knew all too well: a Shade.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra yelled as she unlimbered her shield and drew her sword. Of course, just as the Seeker engaged the first Shade, a second rose from the ice.

“Lovely,” Hawke muttered as she looked around for something-anything-she could use as a weapon. She feigned left, and just as the shade drove that way she threw herself into a roll toward the right and the two short blades laying near the corpse of a solider. She came up, blades in hand, and a dangerous smile sketched on her lips. This was something she knew, and knew well. Miriam Hawke had battled more demons than many Templars in her time in Kirkwall. Within three strikes the demon shattered, leaving nothing more than ichor.

Hawke turned to help Cassandra, but the other woman struck the killing blow before Miriam could get into range. The Seeker turned, and the moment she saw the blades in Hawke’s hands, she dropped into an offensive crouch. “Drop your weapons!” she snarled.

It took everything for Hawke not to role her eyes as she humored the crazy lady with the sword. “Alright, have it your way,” she said, slowly crouching down to place the blades on the ice.

The Seeker watched her for a moment and then shook her head. “Wait. It is obvious I cannot protect you like this,” she said, and Hawke could almost see the pain the admission cost her. “You came willingly, and I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to be defenseless.”

Hawke straightened back up, and as she did so she said, “Thank you.”

Cassandra looked as if she were about to reply, but just gestured to move on.

 

* * *

 

There were several more skirmishes with demons falling from the Breach, and Hawke was beginning to feel at home, in a bad way.

They reached a stairway and Cassandra’s head perked up. “You can hear the fighting!”

Hawke listened, and sure enough, heard the sounds of battle. “Who’s fighting?”

“You’ll see soon,” Cassandra yelled as she took the stairs two at a time, “We must help them!”

 Hawke followed Cassandra’s lead, and as they crested the rise, she heard a familiar twang of a crossbow.  _If_ he’s  _here, then they truly must be desperate!_  Hawke thought as she charged toward the battle. And it was then she got her first glimpse of what Cassandra had called a ‘rift’.

Miriam had no time for more than faint impressions: a jagged tear in the sky, sickening green-white glow, and on the other side, a place out of her worse nightmares. But those things flowed to the back of her awareness as she focused on the battle. A quick side step and Hawke’s daggers slashed through a shade assailing an elven mage. A turn and thrust tore into a second demon, allowing Cassandra to finish the creature. A third turn and someone grabbed her wrist.

“Quickly! Before more come through.” The unfamiliar elven mage thrust her hand toward the rift as the brand came to life, and Hawke fought down a scream. The tendrils of fire writhing their way into her body reversed course, as power flowed out of the brand in what looked like a ribbon of light.

That’s not what Hawke felt. The ‘ribbon’ was thousands of tiny threads, each seeking purchase at the edge of the tear. She felt them stitch across the rift just as the elf pulled back on her wrist. The threads went taut and the rift slammed shut.

Hawke fought to breath, flexing her hand against the searing pain. The channels that had been burned into her subsided, allowing her to think again. She looked about, seeing demon corpses and soldiers who were no longer looking at her with hatred in their eyes. There was wary respect there, and possibly awe.

 _Oh Maker, nothing good is going to come of this,_  she thought and turned back to the mage who was studying her with polite interest.

“What did you do?” she finally asked.

“ _I_  did nothing,” he replied with what Hawke thought might be mild amusement. “The credit is yours, Champion.”

“You mean this… brand, is actually good for something?”

He nodded, “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark… or brand as you call it, upon your hand. I theorized that the mark may be able to close the rifts opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.”

“Then it could also close the Breach itself?” Cassandra asked.

“Possibly.” The elf favored Hawke with another polite smile, but something flashed behind his eyes. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know,” said an achingly familiar and welcome voice. “Nice of you to drop by, Hawke.”

She grinned at Varric as he holstered Bianca. “What can I say? I missed my trusty dwarf.” Miriam looked around, “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

“Well, no blood mages yet, or crazed Templars,” Varric paused dramatically, “though there’s a crazy ex Templar or three up the mountain somewhere. But then you’d need to be crazy to be here.”

Cassandra gave an irritated snort as Hawke shook her head, getting both the spoken and  _unspoken_  meaning. “What does that say about us?”

“We’re prisoners, Hawke, we don’t have a choice, so into the valley we go.”

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra said, advancing on the dwarf. “Your help is appreciated, Varric…”

“And you need me because the valley is crawling with demons, and your soldiers are being pushed back.” Varric glanced at Hawke then said, “Besides, Hawke wouldn’t know what to do with herself otherwise.”

Cassandra growled, clenching her fists several times before she stalked away.

Hawke turned and saw the mage regarding her in a way that made her want to fidget, as if she was being measured by some unknown standard.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,” he said in that same politely distant voice.

Varric shook his head. “What he really means, Hawke, is that he kept that thing from killing you while you took a nap.”

Hawke returned Solas’ regard with her own. “Everyone else I’ve met seem as a loss about this… thing.” She looked down at her brand with distaste.

“Solas is an apostate, well versed in such matters,” Cassandra supplied.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” the elf noted as emotion finally began to creep into his voice. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I could with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are doomed, regardless of origin.”

“And after?” Hawke pressed. The elf’s polite distance made her nervous.

“One would hope those who are in power will remember who helped… and who did not.” Solas turned to Cassandra, “Seeker, you should know, the magic involved is unlike any I’ve seen. And while there are mages in the Champion’s bloodline, she is not. In fact, I cannot imagine even a mage having such power.”

Cassandra nodded, “Understood, we should get to the forward camp immediately.” She stopped for a moment, considering the blocked gate. “We will have to swing around, and pray for no more delays.”

Cassandra and Solas headed down the bank, as Varric looked at Hawke. “Just like old times, huh?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Maker help us all.”

 

* * *

 

Another soundless explosion and blast of light assaulted Hawke’s senses as the rift blocking the gate to Cassandra’s “forward camp” closed. As the Seeker called for the guards to allow them entrance now that the danger had passed, Solas ghosted up beside her.

“Well done, “he said softly. “I am glad to see you as competent as the tales claim.”        

Hawke raised an eyebrow, and smiled “Damning me with faint praise, Solas?”

The elf shook his head. “Not at all. Many may have talent, but even great talent only goes so far. Competency comes from being tested again and again, thus a much more rewarding thing.”      

The wooden gates opened at that moment and as they passed under the arch Hawke looked at Varric who shrugged. “Don’t look at me, Hawke. All I know is that damn thing might actually be useful.”

“I suppose.”

The “forward camp” was less a camp and more of a blockade between the Haven and the Temple. There were few tents, but barrels and boxes of supplies were stacked along each retaining wall bordering the bridge. Leliana stood looking over a table, and by her side was an older man, dressed in the tunic and cap of a Chantry brother. The pair were half way down the span but Hawke could hear them arguing.        

“ _I_  have caused trouble?”

“You, Cassandra, Most Holy. Haven’t you all done enough?” the old man snarled

“You are not in command here.” Leliana’s voice was devoid of all emotion.

The man glared at the former bard then saw Hawke standing several feet away. “They arrive,” he said, voice tinged with annoyance.

Leliana looked relieved however. “You made it, and by what just happened I assume Solas’ theory was correct, no?”

Cassandra nodded, and Hawke could almost see relief in the Seeker’s eyes.

“Good then,” Leliana said and turned to the brother, “Chancellor Rodrick may I present the…”

“I know who she is.” Rodrick cut in. He then turned to Cassandra and puffed himself up. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry I order you to take the prisoner the Val Royeaux to…”

Before he finished his pronouncement Hawke nodded her head to him, walked around the table and headed for the far gate. Everyone was taken aback by this brazen move except Varric, who was smirking, and Solas, who hid a smile behind a polite cough. Hawke turned, cocked her head and addressed Cassandra, pointedly ignoring Rodrick, who was spluttering.

“The Breach is this way, right?”

 “It is one route…Champion,” Leliana looked at Cassandra who shook her head in resignation. By this point the Seeker had realized it was better to let Hawke have her head than try and rein her in. That, and Cassandra had begun to doubt Hawke’s involvement in this insanity.

“It’s the quickest, Leliana,” the Seeker said, impatient as Hawke to have done with this.

“The mountain path…”

“Enough!” Rodrick shouted. “The  _prisoner’s_  fate, the Breach… all are decisions for the new Divine, not you.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “If the prisoner doesn’t close the Breach, her fate isn’t going to be an issue soon.” And on cue, the brand flared to life as Hawke bit down and drew on her stubborn will to fight though the pain. Solas strode over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The pain cooled slightly, a trickle of ice in the middle of a firestorm, but it helped Hawke get control again.

“Champion, this is the very limit of my powers, and for that I am sorry.” The elf’s calm eyes swept over all assembled. “I do not wish to disparage the Chantry, but if the Champion does not reach the Breach and attempt to seal it, she will die, we will lose this valley to the Fade, and should we follow the Chancellor’s suggestion to wait for a new Divine, most of southern Thedas as well.”

Hawke waited for Rodrick to dispute the elf’s words, but Solas’ tone of authority was absolute and even the Chancellor recognized it through his anger.

Leliana nodded, “The mountain path is safe…”

“We lost an entire squad on that path, Leliana, I would hardly call that safe.” Cassandra replied. “And we must move quickly!”

“Safer then,” the bard amended, “but with a distraction, it would actually quicker since there is less potential to be overwhelmed on the trail.”

“We go straight up,” Hawke cut in. “Without the brand, I could handle the mountains easily. I don’t trust that I could with this… thing flaring up at random.”

Everyone except Chancellor Rodrick nodded in agreement, and Cassandra ordered Leliana to bring everyone who was left in the valley to the Temple. As she walked past the Chancellor she heard him mutter:

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

Cassandra moved to the Champion’s side and was surprised by the hand on her shoulder. The Seeker looked at the other woman who squeezed gently, and gave her a sad but wry smile. Hawke let go just as Varric commented, “I almost expected him to yell ‘You’ll never get away with this!’”

The Seeker rolled her eyes. “This is not one of your tales, Varric.”

“Not yet anyway, but the day is young.”

 

* * *

 

Hawke grit her teeth as they crested the last rise. Cassandra had assured her that they were close to the center of the explosion, and the Breach. The four of them passed through a small aid station. The wounded looked up at her from where they were being tended, pain and weariness in their eyes, along with anger directed at the one they thought caused all of this. The urge to snarl at them died in her throat as she heard a voice that carried over the din of combat. A voice calling out orders and trying to steady the men fighting. A voice Hawke had missed for two years.

Cassandra blinked as the Champion shot off like a bolt toward the battlefield. The others ran to catch up as a second wave of demons spilled out of the rift. The green spindly creatures stood almost twice as tall as a man.

“Lovely,” Hawke said as Varric caught up with her. “New demons. As if the old varieties weren’t horror enough.”

“Hey, look on the bright side. It’s not a pride demon.”

Hawke lashed at a Terror’s lower leg, cutting the tendon. It screamed as it went to one knee allowing Cassandra a killing blow. “Don’t even joke…”

The soldiers rallied as Hawke party entered the fray, and the second wave was beaten back.

Hawke dropped her dagger as soon as it was clear, and raised the brand toward the rift. The sensations of strands rushing out and stitching themselves to either side of the tear felt more solid, as if she could exert some true control over the power. The soundless explosion broke the connection with the sealed rift and Hawke tried to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair and tried to quell the nervous butterflies in her stomach. Unfortunately, the butterflies were being contrary when she heard his voice.

“Lady Cassandra, welcome. You came in good time.”

“Thank the Champion, Commander, as she chose our route here,” the Seeker pointed out as Hawke turned slowly to face the Inquisition’s military commander.

Cullen Rutherford looked almost exactly the same as when Hawke had seen him last. There was a new scar on his upper lip, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still the most beautiful man Hawke had ever seen in her life. He held himself with the same self-assurance she remembered, and if those striking honey brown eyes flared with heat, no one noticed. Nor did they notice that there may have been the slightest quaver in his voice when he addressed Hawke.

“Champion.”

Just one word from him undid her.

“Maker’s  _breath_ , Cullen,” she hissed and launched herself at him.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had been trying desperately to keep some kind of decorum considering the situation, but even after all this time, he’d never been good at Hawke-proofing his intentions. So he barely had time to brace himself as she threw herself at him. He caught her, stumbling back a half pace from the momentum. Her mouth claimed his immediately even as her fingers tangled in his hair. Instinctively, his arms went about her hips, pulling her closer. Their tongues danced even as Cullen fought to remember they were on a battlefield, surrounded by soldiers under his orders. But logic and reason had difficulty winning out against the feel of Hawke’s mouth on his, the little noises she made as she desperately pressed herself against him, and two years of pent up longing and desire.

“You two are always so  _cute_  when you get like this, but there’s that Breach thing, and I think the Seeker’s about to have a fit or something.” The amusement in Varric’s voice as he spoke was palpable.

The pair broke apart, though Cullen took Hawke’s hands in his own for a moment. He looked at the brand, then into her eyes.

“Maker, woman, can’t you ever stay out of trouble?” he asked in a voice that mingled laughter and tears.

“I do try,” her voice was equal parts embarrassment and plaintiveness.

“I know, Miriam, I know,” he replied wryly as they turned to face Cassandra.

The Seeker was standing there, attempting to find words and having no luck. Finally she rounded on Varric.

“You said you told me the  _whole story_!” she roared at the dwarf.

Varric just smiled beatifically and said, “I… may have edited it a little bit. For your delicate sensibilities, Seeker. I mean, I can’t be corrupting the Right Hand of the Divine with smut, can I?”

At that Cullen started sputtering and a flush crawled up his neck and Hawke let out a bark of amused and embarrassed laughter. “Varric, you weren’t even  _there_  for the smutty parts.”

“Andraste preserve us, Miriam, don’t encourage him!”

“Hey there was that Wicked Grace game at the Hanged Man where you two…”

“Enough!” Cassandra roared as Varric retreated out of reach. The Seeker turned to Cullen, who’d slipped an arm around Hawke’s waist. “You could have told me, Commander.”

“No, I couldn’t, Seeker,” Cullen replied. There was courtesy in his voice, but no give. “And I couldn’t have told you what you really wanted to know: where Hawke was.”

She narrowed her eyes and said in an incredulous voice, “After this, you tell me you had  _no_  idea where Hawke was?”

“It’s true, Seeker,” Hawke told her. “We kept that information to one person: Varric. None of my other friends or loved ones knew where I was. We have reasons for it, good ones I promise.” Hawke’s blue eyes met Cullen’s brown, and he nodded in silent agreement. Hawke took a small breath and spoke once more. “Seeker… Cassandra, once we deal with the Breach, we’ll tell you what you want to know. We’ve gone great lengths to keep this secret and all I ask is that you be willing to keep it once we entrust it to you.”

“I cannot promise any such thing, Champion. Too many lives are at risk.”

“Seeker, you really think that Hawke and Curly are keeping something that’s even worse than this?” Varric said then he sighed, pitching his voice as low as he could so only Cassandra could hear. “Look, they’re putting a life at risk if they tell you.”

Cassandra studied the Champion for a moment. Hawke’s loyalty to her friends was a defining trait. It was well known that she would go to insane lengths to protect them. Cassandra had no doubt now that this secret was the reason why Hawke had disappeared. And if what she’d begun to suspect was correct, then it was yet more proof that the Champion had nothing to do with what happened. Cassandra gave herself an internal shake.

 _She would not have put both Varric and Cullen in danger like this. Even if something went wrong, Hawke would have made sure they were far from the Conclave before any attack would begin,_ Cassandra thought.

“Once we have dealt with the Breach, I will keep your secret.”

She watched as the tightness around Cullen’s eyes eased slightly, and Hawke’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Cassandra,” Cullen said as he reluctantly let go of Hawke’s waist. “We’ve set a perimeter around the caldera, and scouts report it is clear for the moment. Everything falling from the Breach seems to fall outward not straight into crater. There is a rift directly beneath the Breach but there has been no activity.”

“Thank you, Commander. Leliana will be arriving with reinforcements soon,” Cassandra replied with approval.

“We’ll keep the way clear, Seeker. Maker watch over you, and bring you back safe,” he said as they turned to go, but Hawke looked back for one second and saw Cullen mouth something more:

_I love you._

She smiled cheekily at him and mouthed back:

_I know._

He tried to glare at her response but she added:

_I love you too, stay safe._

She turned back toward the center of the explosion, and allowed him to return to his duties. She felt Varric’s hand on her arm.

“He’ll be okay, Hawke,” her friend said quietly as they walked on.

“That depends on me being able to close this thing, Varric. Despite the brave face, I’m not sure I can.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. It’s like I’ve always told people: ‘never bet against Hawke’.”

“You still believe that?”

“You bet your ass I do.” Varric gave her a small smile and was about to say more when Cassandra stopped abruptly. She stood there looking at one spot.

“This is where you walked out of the Fade, Champion, and our soldiers found you.”

Hawke came to stand next to the Seeker, staring at nothing. The ground was flat, scarred and pitted, but there was no ash, no bodies locked in last moments of horror. It was just a spot on the ground, and yet in the spot, everything in Miriam Hawke’s life changed. She looked up, not wanting to think about it, and her eyes found one of those bodies. It reminded her of Meredith, at the Gallows, terror etched forever on a blackened and warped face. Suddenly it was too much, and Hawke went to her knees retching. What little that was in her stomach spattered the ground, and she fought to control both the heaves and the tears.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and as she looked up she was surprise it was neither Varric nor Cassandra, but Solas. He handed her a small canteen, and said, “It is better to look upon this and react with horror, than to look upon it and be numb.”

Hawke took the canteen and rinsed her mouth. She returned it to Solas as he helped her stand.

“Thank you,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she expressing thank just for the water.

“Of course, Champion, but we best move on. I am unsure how much time we have.”

Varric offered her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, and Cassandra murmured words of encouragement.  Hawke nodded and managed a smile that was too fragile for the legendary Champion of Kirkwall, but it was one.

 _Maker, I think you may want to reconsider what I am able to handle after the past few years,_  she thought as she dropped down into the next terrace. She looked around as she heard Varric say, “That Breach is a long way up.”

Hawke agreed and looked at the Seeker. “Is there a ladder or scaffold or something I’m supposed to climb to get up there?”

Solas shook his head. “No, this rift was the first, and  _it_ is the key.” He pointed to the tear Cullen had mentioned. “Seal it, and perhaps it will seal the Breach.”

Hawke stepped forward, but something caught her eye, a glow at odds with the sickly greens of the Fade. She blinked and then realized what she was seeing. Her whole body went ridged and she began to swear as loudly and creatively as possible. Every curse she’d ever learned from Merrill, Varric, Isabela and Fenris passed her lips. Trade Tongue, Elvish, Qunlat, Tevene, and Rivaini burned the air with lurid precision.

“Hawke,” Varric said warily, as he’d never seen Hawke this agitated before. Not when they were stuck in the Deep Roads, not when the Qunari assaulted Kirkwall, or even when Meredith tried to murder her.  He fought the urge to swallow and run as far and as fast as he could.

She finally ran out of curses and just pointed to something to the rear of the crater. His eyes flickered toward the right corner where a ruined wall still stood, and he saw it.

“Shit! That’s impossible! The only pieces of it are in Kirkwall! It can’t have crossed the fucking Waking Sea,” Varric all but shouted. “The Maker’s cursed me. That’s the only way I can explain how I keep running into this shit.”

“Or whatever magic opened the Breach corrupted the lyrium veins beneath us,” Solas offered gently.

Cassandra looked at all of them and said, “We will worry about the red lyrium once we deal with the Breach. It may offer us a clue as to who did this.”

Hawke nodded, quietly not commenting on the fact Cassandra seemed to include her in the ‘ _we’_  and not in the ‘ _who did this.’_

They heard footsteps behind them and turned to find Leliana entering the caldera. “You’re here! Thank the Maker.”

Cassandra nodded her greetings and said, “We need to position the archers with care.” She pointed out the lyrium deposits to the former bard. “Things are more… complex than we anticipated.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes, and for a moment Hawke could see the Left Hand of the Divine staring out of them. “Agreed,” she turned to Varric and asked, “What do you know?”

“Not much. A little sliver of the stuff drove Bartrand mad. Being in the same damn house with it, I could hear that sliver sing. I don’t have any idea how far out you have to be to be out of range. Only thing I can really tell you is don’t touch it!” He shrugged, and Hawke reached over to squeeze his shoulder. They were both spooked, and the faster they closed the Breach, the faster they could get out of this pit.

Leliana began issuing orders to the soldiers as Hawke and company made their way down. They had only moved a few yards when Hawke fought down another quiver of nausea as the tendrils that made up the brand shuddered inside her. At the same time a deep resonant voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

_Now is the hour of Our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice._

Cassandra looked around, hand on her pommel. “What was that?”

“At a guess, the person who created the Breach,” Solas supplied in the same voice one would use to discuss the weather. The nausea had passed, but something tickled at the back of Hawke’s brain. She should know that voice, but she could not chase it down. As they continued on the voice spoke again.

_Keep the sacrifice still._

A second voice, feminine and frightened called out:

_Someone help me!_

Cassandra jerked to a halt, “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

With each voice the brand shivered inside her, and with each voice Hawke continued forward. The only way to end this was to close the Breach. There was no going back. She dropped from the last ledge to the floor of the crater when a third voice shouted:

_What’s going on here!?!_

Cassandra landed beside her, and turned. “That was  _your_  voice, Hawke. Most Holy called out to you…”

A flash of light and another shudder of power burned through Hawke’s arm as a vision appeared before them. A shadow figure with little shape but glowing eyes stood before a magically bound Divine. And again she called out for aid, and in response doors smashed open as Hawke saw herself, in servant’s livery, stride in, demanding answers.

 _No armor and no weapons except for a few throwing spikes. That’s uncommonly stupid even for me,_  she thought absently as the scene played on.

“Run while you can! Warn them!” Divine Justinia ordered as the shadow figure turned to the vision Hawke.

“Kill  _her_!” it said with deadly venom. “ _NOW!”_

The vision shattered and the burning in her arm subsided but Cassandra was already on her. The Seeker grabbed Hawke’s shoulders and shook her.

“So you were there! Who attacked, and the Divine? Is she… Was this vision true!”

Hawke respectfully but firmly removed Cassandra’s hands. “If I remembered I would tell you, Seeker, truly I would. It’s like I have a hole in my mind.”

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas told them quietly. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” He studied the smaller rift for a moment, then turned back to them. “This rift is closed, but not sealed. I believe with the Champion’s… brand, we can open the rift then seal it permanently and safely. But opening it will attract attention from the other side.”

“Which means demons,” Cassandra replied, pulling her mind back to immediate matters. She gestured to the soldiers. “Stand ready.”

“And this is where the Champion of Kirkwall rides to the rescue again,” Hawke said to no one in particular, then her voice dropped to a mutter, “this is higher than my usual stakes, however.”

She brought the brand up and reached for the rift. Instead of thousands of tiny threads stitching a hole, the power became thousands of tiny questing fingers looking for faults to exploit. She pulled the tear open and out came a huge horned beast.

“Well, shit. Pride demon!” Varric yelled from his perch as he let loose a volley from Bianca.

“I told you not to joke about it!” Hawke replied as she tried to move into a position to attack. But bolts, arrows, swords, axes all bounce off the demon’s armor as it lashed out with chains formed of lightening.

“We must strip its defenses somehow, wear it down!” Cassandra yelled.

“We don’t exactly have time for that, Seeker!” Varric shouted back as he rolled out of the way of a lightning chain that came down on the ledge.

“And what do  _you_  suggest!?!”

Hawke paid no attention to the banter as she tried to figure out how to end this. Varric was right in that each strike might cost more soldiers. There had to be a way, but Hawke felt like she was moving through a thick fog. The power of the rift surrounded her, and while the demon wasn’t connected to it, the thing was drawing… Then it hit her. The brand came up a second time, but not to sew or to rip, but to shake. Tremors ran through the power filling the crater, and they smashed over the Pride Demon.

“Now!” Hawke shouted as she tried to move in to help, but Leliana held her back.

“No, Cassandra and the soldiers will handle this. You must survive to seal the rift and the Breach,” she told Hawke. Hawke wanted to argue, object, do something, but Leliana was right. But as she watched soldiers die when the Pride Demon regained its strength, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Again and again the power filling the crater that was once the Temple of Sacred Ashes shattered under the relentless assault of the brand and Hawke’s stubborn will. Seeing the Champion battling the rift, and through it the demon, heartened the surviving soldiers and they redoubled their efforts. Out of the corner of her eye, Hawke saw a young woman in Templar armor strike the beast; shattering it into motes of energy that the rift drew back into the Fade.

“Close it NOW!” Cassandra ordered, and Hawke reached out with power to comply. Fingers once again became threads, stitching back and forth across the rift’s opening. But this rift fought in ways the others hadn’t. Hawke bore down, refusing to be beaten by this. More and more she poured power and will into the brand until she felt something within the rift give. Hawke pulled back hard with a victory cry, and as the rift sealed she slammed to the temple floor. Then there was only darkness.

 

* * *

 

Three days had passed since Hawke had collapsed at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The healers told Cullen and Cassandra that they’d done all they could. It was now in the Maker’s hands, they said. The Seeker had accepted this pronouncement with her customary stoicism, but Cullen’s attempts at remaining impassive failed. Every free moment he had was spent in the cottage set aside for the Champion’s recovery. Varric joined him in this vigil, but even the dwarf’s affable façade was strained. Neither man said much as they waited; for truthfully there was nothing much to say. On the third day, that changed.

Adan, Haven’s resident apothecary, had informed Cullen that he expected Hawke to wake soon. In a shocking breach of duty, Cullen designated his responsibilities to Knight Captain Rylen, then returned to the cottage to wait.

It was midmorning when Hawke finally opened one eye and groaned.

“I spent too much time at the Hanged Man last night, didn’t I?” she asked as she spotted Cullen sitting on the bed next to her. “I had the worst ale induced nightmare. Someone had torn a hole in the sky. You were there. Varric was there…”

“It wasn’t a nightmare, Miri,” Cullen said gently.

Both eyes were open now, and Hawke winced at the midmorning sunlight streaming through the windows. “Ugh… At least tell me it worked? The damn thing is closed?”

“It stopped growing, as has the mark on your hand, love.”

Hawke pushed herself up, and glared at the offending hand. “It’s not a mark. It’s not just a  _thing_  on the surface. It burrowed inside of me, Cullen, and I can still feel it. It’s a brand, and I want it gone.”

Cullen took her hand in his own, gently swiping his thumb over the brand. It was slightly warmer than the surrounding skin, and he felt a slight vibration as the pad of his thumb caressed it. “You know we’ll do everything we can, love.”

Miriam pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, “I’m sorry, Cullen, but suddenly being responsible for the fate of the world is somewhat wearing.” She swung her legs so she was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. Resting her head on his shoulder she tried to smile.

Cullen kissed her hair; hugging her tightly to him. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Miri. I can’t imagine anyone could prepare for this kind of circumstance. Unfortunately, Cassandra wanted to see us once you woke.”

“Duty calls. I blame you for this, you know.”

“Me? How am I responsible for any of this?”

She stood and stretched, “Corrupting me with your overdeveloped sense of duty.”

He laughed, “Corrupting  _you_?”

“Of course. Before you I was carefree and irresponsible, and it was much less exhausting.”

Cullen got up and reached for her. His arms slid around her slender waist, pulling her to him. His mouth caught hers and warmth filled him as his tongue slipped past her lips. Hawke moaned, grinding her hips against him. The heat of her was nearly his undoing, but he forced himself to break the kiss before things became more… interesting.

“Overdeveloped sense of duty indeed,” he whispered, looking in her eyes. He let go of her reluctantly, and stepped back. “There are a few changes of clothing in the chest. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Hawke smiled at him, already undoing her shirt. “Wouldn’t you rather stay and help?” she asked with feigned innocence.

 _Outside, now,_  he thought to himself and slipped out the door; Hawke’s amused laughter following him. As the door closed behind him, Cullen found himself looking at a young elven woman. He’d seen her here and there in the village, but only glimpses. The girl cringed upon seeing him.

“Ser, has the Herald wakened?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Lady Cassandra requires her in the Chantry at once!”

“And the Herald will be there, but she just woke and needs to dress,” Cullen said, trying to keep a patient tone. It was hard, considering he knew Hawke wasn’t going to be pleased with her new honors. No one was sure who gave her the title, but it had rushed through Haven like wildfire. The Herald of Andraste. He’d wanted to tell Hawke immediately but Cassandra had requested he wait.

 _I will admit Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine understand the political impact better than I do,_ he thought.  _But Miriam won’t care about the politics. She’ll find the entire idea ludicrous._

Cullen looked around and noticed people gathering. He saw awe and reverence on a number of faces as they lined the pathways of Haven.  _Oh, this is going to go over well._

The door behind him creaked open, and Hawke stepped out.

“Let’s not keep the Seeker waiting; she’s as impatient as…” Hawke looked around, and notice the gathering throng. “Cullen?”

“Cassandra will explain, I promise.” He gestured for her to proceed him. The Champion stepped forward, trying to ignore the awed whispers that followed them.

“Is that the Herald…?”

“She can close them, the Herald of Andraste…”

“Andraste blessed her, and that’s good enough…”

Cullen watched as Hawke’s body continued to tense as the people of Haven honored the Maker’s chosen. There was little he could do, other than usher Hawke quickly through the crowd. The cottage was not that far from the Chantry but it felt like it took an eternity to reach the large oak doors. Cullen opened the left hand door, and gestured for Hawke to proceed him. Once inside, she relaxed, until the raised voices of Chancellor Roderick and Cassandra Pentaghast reached them.

Hawke’s eyes narrowed and she began to smile. It was an expression Cullen recognized immediately, for Miriam Hawke was at her most dangerous when she smiled like that. He touched the small of her back in warning, and she turned to look at him.

“I know that look, so whatever you happen to be thinking, stop right now.”

“Do you truly believe I would harm a charming hair on the Chancellor’s blessed head?” she asked, her blue eyes wide with faux innocence even as she clenched her teeth.

“If you could get away with it? Yes, you would.” He replied. “I did spend seven years in Kirkwall with you, remember. As I said, I  _know_ how you think.”

They began walking toward the back of the Chantry, and the small room in which the Seeker and Chancellor were meeting.

“She failed, Seeker, open your eyes. What will it take for you to see she was complicit in this, as she was in the Chantry explosion in Kirkwall,” Rodrick said as Hawke tensed further, and Cullen began to feel murderous.

“She was not guilty then, and I believe she is not guilty now,” Cassandra replied, her patience obviously strained.

“That is not for  _either_  of you to decide. That is the duty of the Divine,” the Chancellor shot back. “Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“My duty, Chancellor, is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded. As is yours.”

Cullen took that as a signal to knock on the door, and Hawke was only mildly surprised that Leliana bade them enter.

Chancellor Rodrick glared at Hawke and said to the Templars guarding the doorway, “You will chain the prisoner and prepare her for travel to Val Royeaux for trial.”

Cullen moved to his place at the large table, which was covered by maps, tactical markers, notes, and other sundries. He then regarded the men and said, “You’re dismissed.”

The Templars saluted and retreated through the door, leaving an angry Chancellor behind.

“I suppose such behavior is to be expected from one who abandoned the Chantry.”

Cullen saw that same dangerous smile begin to curve Miriam’s lips. She was about to come to his defense; something that would turn ugly.

“It was the Order who abandoned the Chantry, Chancellor. I chose to serve with Seeker Pentaghast because I believed in Divine Justinia’s cause” he said, preempting Hawke’s verbal riposte.  “Which Lord Seeker Lambert did not.”

“What matters, Chancellor, is that the Breach is stable, but still a threat. We will not ignore it,” Cassandra told him.

“I would think battling a Pride Demon, and then nearly dying trying to close the blasted thing would satisfy you,” Hawke said, that dangerous smile still in place.

“Yet you live, and the Breach still mars the sky. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

Cullen forced himself to calm, and Hawke was about to shoot back, but it was Cassandra that answered, voicing anger at the Chancellor’s intransigence. “Have a care, Chancellor, the Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana spoke for the first time. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others, but some may yet live.”

As the former Bard gave Rodrick a hard look, he blanched. “ _I_ am a suspect?”

“You are one of many. Most Holy had enemies enough due to her beliefs without inventing more.”

“And despite the prisoner’s history, she is not numbered among those enemies?”

Cassandra scoffed, “If she were, Most Holy would not have called out to her for help.”

“You base her innocence on Fade prompted delusions? Are you mad, Seeker?”

Cassandra looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Some might have said the same of Andraste.”

Rodrick stared at the Seeker dumbfounded for a moment and then said, “You tread very close to heresy, Seeker.”

“Do you truly believe this is all coincidence, Chancellor?” Cassandra nodded to Hawke and continued. “We sought the Champion to no avail, and yet she is here, in our darkest hour, bearing a power we desperately need.”

Hawke’s eyes widened, and for one of the few times in his memory, she was rendered speechless.

Cassandra looked at the other woman and nodded. “I may be wrong in seeing the Maker’s Hand in this, but I will not pretend you are not the right woman, in the right place, at the right time.”

“Enough!” Rodrick all but shouted. “You go too far. The Maker turned His Gaze from the world once again with the Second Sin. He will only return to us once the Chant of Light it sung in all four corners of the world. To challenge this truth is to challenge the basic foundations of the Chantry and society.”

“The Chant is the beginning of wisdom, Chancellor,” Cassandra told him, “but we are imperfect vessels who cannot know the fullness of the Maker’s truth.”

“You would destroy  _everything_ we are!”

“Theological arguments are a moot point if the Breach remains open, Chancellor,” Cullen pointed out.

“And if the Breach is closed but the Chantry falls, Commander?” What then?”

Leliana shook her head. “The Chantry is the faithful. Most Holy understood that. If we allow them to come to harm, we will have failed our duty to them. _That_  would destroy everything we are.”

Cassandra dropped a book on the table, then thumped it with two fingers. “Do you recognize this, Chancellor? The Divine’s writ granting us the authority to act.”

“Which was only to be invoked if the Conclave failed!”

“You wouldn’t call what happened a failure?” Cullen asked incredulously.

“It was to be invoked by the Divine; not by a thug with delusions of grandeur.”

“Most Holy never set conditions on who might invoke it. And so I declare the Inquisition reborn.” Cassandra’s voice was harsh. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

“This will never stand, Seeker.”

“And what do you intend to do, Chancellor?” Cullen asked. “Declare an Exalted March? There is no Divine to make the call, and no one is in a position to answer. So let those of us who can do the work of the world get on with it.”

Rodrick flushed angrily and marched out.

“He really is rather charming, isn’t he.” Hawke said to no one in particular.

Leliana looked at Hawke and shook her head. “Rodrick is not a bad man. He is simply devoted to the Chantry as an institution.”

“And he’s terrified of any kind of change,” Cullen said with a disgusted note in his voice.

Before anyone else could comment, the door swung open once more, and a young woman walked in looking slightly perturbed.  She was attractive, with an olive complexion, dark hair, and grey brown eyes which glanced around, and then lighted on Hawke.

“Your pardon, I didn’t mean to interrupt, my lady, but seeing Chancellor Rodrick’s exit has me concerned,” she said in a pronounced Antivan accent, and her eyes swept back across Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra.

Hawk blinked at the honorific, but before she could say anything Cullen provided introductions.

“Hawke, this is Lady Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s diplomatic advisor. Lady Montilyet, Miriam Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Hawke rolled her eyes at Cullen and offered Josephine her hand. “Not that I really need to be introduced by that title. Thanks to Varric everyone knows, or so it seems.”

Josephine took her hand graciously, “You’re too modest, my lady.”

“Not modest, Lady Montilyet, and certainly not a lady.”

Lady Josephine let go, and shook her head. “You are a scion of the Amell family, Champion. It is appropriate address.”

There was something else in the Antivan’s voice, and Hawke wondered if it was connected with the way people had been looking at her. So she turned to Cassandra and asked, “Cullen said you had something to explain to me?

The Seeker nodded. “The stories of what you did at the Breach have begun to spread. All in Haven know of both your heroism and the vision of the Divine

“They also know how you were found, Champion,” Lady Montilyet said, “and about the woman in the rift.”

“Because of this,” Cassandra continued, “many have come to believe it was Andraste who led you from the Fade. That you were sent to save us.”

“We do not know who first used the term,” Leliana added, “but people have begun to call you ‘The Herald of Andraste’.”

Hawke had been born in a small village that no one had ever heard of until the Fifth Blight. She’d spent most of her life on a farm. She still had moments of discomfort at being named Champion. The idea she was some sort of savior? She’d barely been able to save Kirkwall.

She glanced at Cullen, and could see the concern in his eyes. She wanted to yell at him for not warning her, but she supposed she also understood. This was a more official setting, and it seemed Cassandra Pentaghast knew her well enough to know Hawke might bolt in any other situation.

“Herald,” the Seeker said in a quiet voice that left no doubt  _she_  believed, “you told me that if I wished your help, all I need to was to ask. So I am asking. Will you help us before it’s too late?”

“Of course I will,” Hawke replied, “I think that I’m the last person in Thedas that the Maker would choose for anything, but however I got it, I have this damned brand. That gives me a responsibility to do what I can.

“Thank you, Herald,” Cassandra said quietly. It surprised Hawke how quickly the Seeker had turned, though on second thought maybe it shouldn’t. The woman saw everything at the Temple with her own two eyes. Hawke put that thought aside for later. The Seeker had held up her end of the bargain, and now it was time for Hawke to do the same.

“Well, Seeker, now that this whole Herald thing is out in the open, it seems I owe you a story,” she said, looking about the room. Leliana’s face was passive, and Lady Josephine attempted to look calm, but her eyes were lit with the possibility of learning the truth behind the mysterious disappearance of the Champion of Kirkwall. Cassandra looked interested, and there might have been a little of the excitement that the Ambassador showed, if one looked closely. Cullen was impassive, but his posture was rigid and there was a tightness in his eyes. She looked directly at him and he nodded.

“I’m tempted to get Varric in here, he’s much better at this than I am,” Hawke sighed.

“I don’t believe we truly need his… flourishes in this matter. Facts will suffice,” Cassandra replied.

Miriam nodded then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Varric was telling the truth about how we met. The incident on Sundermount where I rescued the poor Knight Captain from a host of demons is accurate,” she stopped for a second, then smiled,” mostly.”

“It was not a host,” Cullen muttered under his breath, as Hawke turned to look at him

“There was a rage demon, several shades and then Wilmod himself. It was a small host, Commander,” she returned sweetly and Josephine barely managed to suppress a giggle. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, feeling outnumber.

“I rescued him again a few days later from a vicious thief.”

“Maker’s breath! You are never going to let me forget that, aren’t you,” Cullen glowered at her, then his glare swept over the other women. “He was a ten-year-old pickpocket in Lowtown,” he said as he shot Hawke a sideways glance, “and no, he was not  _that_  vicious.”

“Well, after two such daring rescues, I decided it was my duty to keep such a lost soul safe.” Hawke said piously then smiled as the Commander. “The truth is we were  _both_  a little lost in Kirkwall, so of course we became friends then fell in love. It’s almost cliché, isn’t it?"

“Then, in the middle of 9:38, we married,” Cullen said, as he glared at his wife’s editorial commentary.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, “I assume this was without the permission of the Order, Commander?”

“Things were falling apart and I had little faith in the Order’s chain of command,” he replied. There was no apology in his voice as he spoke.

Cassandra nodded and held up a hand in apology. “I did not mean to judge, but I am curious how you managed to convince a cleric to perform a service without the Order’s blessing.”

Hawke laughed, “You can thank the Prince of Starkhaven for that, Seeker. Sebastian had been playing matchmaker practically since the beginning. His old mother confessor had come with several other clerics to minister to the residents of Kirkwall after the explosion of the Chantry.” Her face darkened with the bloody memories of that day. Cullen reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Revered Mother Morag was more than willing to perform the service for us when Prince Sebastian appealed to her,” Cullen told them smiled slightly.

“Unfortunately, we didn’t get much of a chance to enjoy things, as the assassinations started around the same time,” Hawke said. “The plan was that I would play bait, draw them out and then we’d go after the leadership, once we found them. It was going well too, until he,” she pointed an accusatory finger at Cullen, “got me pregnant.”

“You had something to do with it as well, Miriam,” he muttered, turning bright pink as Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana all turned stunned gazes on him, but there was also a proud gleam in his eyes.

“Details, details,” Hawke gave a mock wave of her hand, then sobered. “Obviously, my playing bait was no longer an option, so Varric came up with a plan.”

“This was all Varric’s doing?” Cassandra asked, annoyed, thinking of how many rumors she and Leliana had been forced to chase before finding the dwarf himself.

Hawke smiled, as if she knew what Cassandra was thinking. “It was. He though misdirection would serve better than a simple disappearance. After all, people would wonder why the Champion of Kirkwall vanished so quietly. Our friends, along with Varric’s network planted as many rumors as to my whereabouts as possible. My favorite was that the Champion was headed to Par Vollen to demand satisfaction from the Qun.” 

“And in reality?” Leliana asked.

“I went to Starkhaven as a distant Vael cousin, recently widowed seeking sanctuary with her powerful kin,” Hawke replied, “the worst part about it was keeping up that brogue.” The comment was light hearted, but there was a darkness behind it as Hawke remembered Leandra’s birth. It had all gone as well as could be expected, and Sebastian had been there to support her, but they both knew he couldn’t take Cullen’s place in that moment. Miriam felt his hand on her own once more and another gentle squeeze. “Anya Vael died of complications about a month and a half after Leandra’s birth, which was about the amount of time I needed to recover and start digging. Varric kept Cullen appraised of what was going on, but he didn’t know either of us were in Starkhaven until now.”

Surprisingly it was Lady Josephine who responded first. “After things are a bit more settled, we should send an embassy to Starkhaven. It is, after all, the largest of the city states in the Free Marches, and the Vael family is well respected.” She looked at Cullen and Hawke, “It would make sense to send the Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition’s military forces in such a case.”

Hawke smiled, “I think you might want to let me send a message to Sebastian first. He’s not going to take the accusations against me lightly, and considering how garbled rumors might be when they get to Starkhaven…?”

"I can get your message to him easily enough, Hawke,” Leliana said, “I believe I will send a few more agents to Starkhaven to watch the child, and all they will know is that she is to watched and protected at any cost. Another layer of protection that cannot be anticipated because it is unknown.”

Hawke nodded, understanding Leliana’s unspoken concern. “Thank you, Sister Leliana. I hadn’t even considered what my new ‘elevation’ and Cullen’s position might mean for Lea. When I write Sebastian, I’ll nudge him in that direction too, without mentioning your agents, of course.” Miriam smiled, then looked around. “That’s pretty much the story. As I said, Varric probably could have made it more entertaining.”

“But less informative,” Cassandra muttered under her breath. That made Hawke laugh, though she managed to smile apologetically at the Seeker.

“Be careful, Seeker, or you might end up being his next muse,” she warned Cassandra.

Cullen looked at Hawke for a second then rolled his eyes. “Oh sweet Andraste, I’d forgotten that tripe he wrote based on Aveline. What was it again?”

“ _Swords and Shields_.”

Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine, started to choke and turn bright pink.

“Are you well, Cassandra?” Leliana asked idly. Hawke suspected the spymaster knew exactly why the Seeker was going on like this, but no one else seemed to. She looked at Cullen, who shrugged.

“Maybe I should let you get to inquisitioning now,” Hawke said as the Seeker finally managed to catch a breath. She also intended to see if Varric knew anything about why she’d react like that. “And more importantly, I haven’t eaten since before the Conclave.”

 Josephine nodded, “Of course, Herald. I’ll see that someone brings a meal to your cottage.”

Hawke gave her thanks to Josephine, politely bowed to all of them and left. Silence reigned for several moments as the group struggled with an unvoiced question.

“The Divine chose well, we should honor that choice,” Cassandra said finally.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “I know how much you loath politics, Cassandra, but you know it is a game of perception. The rumors about Miriam Hawke’s involvement in the explosion grow with each day. We are doing everything we can to counter them, but we cannot appoint her Inquisitor until we’ve convinced Thedas she is not some mass murderer.”

“So we do what then? Wait? We need someone who can unify not just the Inquisition itself, but all Thedas. We are at war, and wars are not won by committee,” Cassandra pointed out, then turned to Cullen, “What do you think, Commander?”

He smiled ruefully, “Can you trust what I think considering my bias?”

Cassandra studied him a moment and nodded. “Yes, I believe we can, and you know her better than anyone, even Varric.

“Miriam Hawke is a natural leader,” he said quietly as he returned the Seeker’s regard. “You had to have seen it on the way up the mountainside, Cassandra. She doesn’t try to lead, she just does, and people will respond to that. Having a person who inspires, who is a natural leader is a blessing for any military commander. To have someone like that as Inquisitor would be a gift from the Maker for us, since we need someone to rally around, someone beyond just a commander to believe in.” Cullen shook his head. “The problem in the end will be getting her to accept the position.”

“But she accepted the Viscountess seat in Kirkwall,” Josephine pointed out.

“Only after the Guard Captain, Prince Sebastian Vael and I mousetrapped her into it, Josephine.” Cullen replied. “None of us intended it to be that…traumatic, but it did force Hawke to accept the position because no one else could, or would.”

“This is moot for the moment,” Leliana said. “We must focus on finding a way to close the Breach. That will restore confidence in the Herald, then we can revisit this subject.”

Cassandra nodded her agreement as did an unhappy looking Cullen, as Josephine spoke up.

“We should consider various options on how to deal with the Chantry once word reaches the clerics officially…”

 

* * *

 

It was hours before Cullen could return to the cottage. Discussion of what the Chantry’s next moves might be segued into provision requirements for the scouts, which nobles might be amenable to having Inquisition soldiers on their land thus giving the Inquisition basecamps outside of Haven, and a host of other issues.

Cullen had been involved in dealing with the logistics of the Gallows, but the Circle had different requirements than an army. It was exhausting, and while he didn’t like Threnn’s politics, she was good at her job.

He stopped a moment in front of the door, wondering if he should just go in. Even after their marriage, Cullen hadn’t shared quarters with Miriam for various reasons, including keeping their relationship a secret. Deciding to err on the side of manners he knocked on the doorframe.

“Yes?”

“May I come in, Miriam?” 

“Do you really need to ask?”

With that, Cullen slipped inside, locking the door behind him.  He smiled at her as he said, “I didn’t wish to just walk in and get a dagger for my presumption.”

Hawke flicked a hand at him from where she sat on the bed. “Yes, yes, the horribly violent Champion of Kirkwall or Herald of Andraste or whatever.” The bitter sarcasm in her voice worried him. “So did the four of you finish plotting?

Cullen sniffed, “I do not plot, thank you very much.”

“Fine, did Sister Leliana and Lady… Montilyet is it, finish plotting? I’m sure you and the Seeker did everything you could to try and reign them in.”

He sat down next to her, covering her hand with his. “I’m sorry, love. I wish there was more I could do.”

She looked him in the eye, and he could see the fear there. “Tell me the truth, Cullen. Do you believe I’m this Herald?”

He’d known this was coming, and he’d considered it from every angle ever since the rumors had begun. “Yes, Miri, I do.”

She shuttered and removed her hand, placing it in her lap, as she looked away. “Maker, why?” she whispered, “How could you?”

Cullen reached out and gently cupped her chin, turning her face back to him. He looked into her eyes once more and said, “Because I know you, and if there is anyone I would trust with this power, anyone I know who can save us, it’s you.”

“And if I’m not so sure?”

Cullen smiled once more, and took both hands. He ghosted kisses over the knuckles of both, then gently straightened the loose fists so they were palms up. Again he pressed kisses to the heel of each palm. As he kissed the palm with the brand, it tingled a little and there was a scent like the air after a lightning strike. Minor details that were filed away for later as he turned her hands again to press a kiss on the inner wrist of each hand.

Cullen moved to kneel before her, as his thumbs moved up her inner arms, a gentle circular caress, that brought a sigh to her lips.

“I know you, Miri” he said quietly. “I know the woman you are, and I trust that woman unconditionally.”

Miriam locked eyes with him, “And what if I let you down?"

“You won’t,” Cullen said, his voice low and rough, “my lady.”

“So it’s one of those nights, hmm?” she managed a smile.

“Only if you want it to be, Miri,” Cullen told her, “Everything I have, everything I am is yours.”

Hawke felt a tightness in her chest, as she looked at the beautiful man kneeling before her. Yes, oh Maker, yes, she wanted this. It’s been too damned long, and in all this insanity what she and Cullen had was  _real_. And she needed to feel it again, needed to feel him again.

“And I’m yours, love,” she told him with the small, warm, almost shy smile that was Cullen’s alone. His eyes brightened, topaz struck by the sun, and he smiled back. He took her hands and helped her stand as she began to remove his armor.

“I like the new look,” she told him as she methodically removed each piece from his arms. They dropped to the floor with a ringing sound. Hawke smiled, shaking her head then buried her fingers in the fur collar of his mantle, “I think this fur is a  _little_  much, but I suppose I can get used to it. Better than that skirting anyway.” Her fingers traced their way down to the ties of the mantle clever fingers making quick work of the knots.

“So glad you approve, my lady,” Cullen replied laughing as she stripped the mantle from him. He shed his gauntlets, black tunic, and boots, but she stopped him at the leather trousers.

“Those stay on for now,” Hawke told him, an edge of command in her voice.

He nodded, “As my lady wishes.”

As her fingers undid the laces at the throat of her linen tunic, Cullen took his wife and lover in. Short black hair, struck with blue highlights even in the ruddy light of the candles, rose pink lips in perfect fair skin. And sapphire eyes darkening with so many emotions it nearly overwhelmed him.

The tunic fell to the floor, revealing a breast band and more fair skin, now crisscrossed with silvery scars. There were more than he remembered, and a frisson of anger ran up his spine. Not at his lady, but whom ever had harmed her.      

Her trousers had joined the tunic, as had her slippers. Slowly Miriam removed her small cloths, revealing black curls at the apex of her thighs. Cullen was entranced as she dropped her smalls into the growing pile of clothing, and then she reached for her breast band. It slipped down the slope of her breasts and was discarded like the others. Her nipples, a dusky rose, were already beginning to tighten, and her eyes were now almost black with arousal.

Cullen no longer felt as if he fit inside his own skin, and he reached out to her, “My lady, please,” he begged. Miriam took his hands in her own and gently pulled him to her. Her tongue traced his lips, gently teasing as his mouth opened. She pulled back slightly as he tried to catch her lips. Miriam did this twice more before her right hand slid up to tangle in the Cullen’s hair. She pulled him to her, her tongue stroking his hungrily as her left hand braced against the small of his back.

Cullen felt the hum of the brand, which simply added to the rush of pleasure. His hands moved up to her breasts, rolling her nipples between forefingers and thumbs, feeling the sensitive flesh pebbled beneath his ministrations.  Miriam’s left hand slid over his hip, down his leg and then raked back up his inner thigh. He broke the kiss with a gasp, his head lolling back savoring the sharpness.

“So good, my lady. Please…” he begged her.

His lady looked him in the eye with a dark and wicked gleam. “Isn’t there something else you want first?” She moved her left hand back down for a moment, and Cullen watched her face as she teased herself.

 _Maker’s breath, she’s beautiful,_ he though as he watched her, his body aching with need. A moment later, she brought that hand up to the edge of his lips, gently tracing them. Suddenly impatient, Cullen grabbed her hand, drew her fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one, savoring the taste of her. Miriam growled possessively as his hands slipped down her sides to frame her hips. Cullen followed, sinking down to his knees. He nuzzled her softly, even as he shivered with need. It’d been far too long, and he leaned in, tongue taking those first teasing strokes circling her clit.

Miriam’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there with just enough pressure as she began to purr. Cullen teased her folds slowly with the tip of his tongue, but what he really wanted to do was devour her. He moved his hands downward to grip her upper legs, thumbs gently caressing her inner thighs.

“I’ve missed this, love,” Miriam purred as she continued to stroke his curls. “It’s been so damned long… feeling the glide of your tongue, the warmth of your breath, your…Ahhh!” she cried out as he took her clit between his lips and started to suck. His tongue curled about it as he worked, reducing her to mewling cries of “yes”, “harder”, and “more, dammit”. Her muscles winding tighter beneath his hands, as her fingers pulled tighter at the strands of his hair. Cullen drank her in, and she shattered on his tongue. He felt her muscles ripple with her climax and rocked back a bit to look up at her.

Her head was tipped forward slightly, eyes closed, lips parted around harsh breath. A flush painted her skin pink, and her nipples were clenched. Miriam had moved her hands, bracing herself on his shoulders. After a few shaky breaths she managed to regain her footing, and helped him stand.

Miriam kissed him, tracing her tongue along his lips, lightly teasing them to open so she could deepen it. Cullen let his arms encircle her waist as she kissed him. Her skin was almost too warm as tight nipples rasped against his chest. He felt her right hand brace against his back once more, as her left slipped up his thigh.

Miriam broke the kiss with a wicked smile, then began caressing his length. He gasped, trying desperately not to grind against her palm through the leather of his trousers.

She leaned in, her tongue licking up the shell of his ear. “Shall I return the favor, love? My tongue circling all that smooth,  _hard_  skin?”

“My lady, I…” Cullen swallowed a moan as she undid his laces, sliding inside his small cloths to curls her fingers around him. Her thumb teased over his slit as she stroked him, until he could barely form words.

“Miri, I need... I want…  _please_!” he begged, only vaguely aware of what he was begging for.

“Tell me what you need, Cullen,” Miriam said softly, no more teasing in her voice.

He managed to catch his breath for a moment, and reply, “You, my lady, I need to be inside you.”

His trousers and small cloths were unceremoniously removed and joined the piles of discarded armor and clothing. Miriam laid him down on the bed, straddling him as fingernails raked furrows down his chest. Cullen keened, savoring the edge that heightened his pleasure.

She leaned in, teasing him with her tongue, pulling back just a few inches as he tried to catch her mouth, even as her right hand, brand humming with a surprisingly soothing warmth caressed the marks away. Cullen felt as if he would burst into flames and, his erection was steel.

Miri brought her right hand up to brace against his shoulder once more, as he felt her the fingers of her left circle his length. Cullen fought back a gasp, trying to keep some kind of control. She lowered herself slightly as her hand dragged his length along her core. Cullen moaned, feeling how wet she was for him, and how desperately he wanted her.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” she whispered to him, more arousing than any desire demon. “you want to be inside me, so I can  _take_  you. _Claim_  you. Remind you you’re  _mine_!” The last was harsh, filled with lust and hunger.

“Please, my lady…Miri, I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.  _Always_!”

At those words, she guided him inside her, sliding down, filling herself completely. They lay there for a moment, savoring the feel of one another, then Miriam began to roll her hips in a quick rhythm. He placed his hands on her hips as hers went to his shoulders. Cullen savored this, being inside her tight wet heat, moving together as his body tightened. He wasn’t sure how much more he could stand.

Miri leaned in kissing him hard, their tongues dancing together, and when it broke, she whispered in his ear, “I’m close, Cullen. Make me come one last time.”

That was all he needed. He broke rhythm driving into her as hard and as fast as he could. She mewled and gasped, arching her back, eyes closed, her nails playing all over his chest. He felt her tense, and as she came undone she sank her teeth into his right shoulder, triggering his own release.

The wash of pleasure swept everything away but her. Miriam would always be there, and he would always be hers, no matter what. The sensations faded, replaced by the beginning aches of an abused body. Cullen looked up, about to make some kind of wry remark when he saw Miriam’s face. She was smiling. Not the cheeky smile she showed the world, not the dangerous one. It was a small smile, almost shy and full of such warmth his heart almost burst to see it. It was a smile he hadn’t seen in two years, a smile that was his alone.

“I think I may have gotten a bit carried away on the shoulder,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “I think it might bruise.”

Cullen stretched, and smiled, “You know I don’t mind, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Miriam snorted then shifted to curl up on his right side, her head on his chest. “I know how much you enjoy this, but next time, a little slower?”

“Of course, love,” he replied, “anything you need.” He felt her studying his face for a moment and had to ask, “What’s wrong?”

She sighed, “I suppose you should go back to your tent or whatever.” She fought to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“I do have a tent, but considering word of your… impromptu greeting at the Temple has gotten around Haven, and Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine all know...”

“But what about Leandra?” Miriam asked, starting to worry.

Cullen reached out, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “We tell everyone the partial truth, you didn’t want to put your friends in danger so you went hunting the assassins on your own, much to my displeasure.”

She ignored his comment, and smiled. “Living together,” she said, trying it out on her tongue.

“I am told that is what married couples do,” Cullen returned her smile with one of his own.

They curled around one another, savoring the quiet when Miriam spoke up, “Cullen?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He felt a smile sketch across his lips. “I love you too, Miri.”


	2. Breaking the Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lesson on the truth of war, the arrival of a familiar face, and Cullen finally tells Miriam what else he left behind when he left Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Breaking the Habit' comes from the song of the same title by Linkin Park.
> 
> The official video can be seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2H4l9RpkwM&list=RDv2H4l9RpkwM
> 
> The major story beats will probably be long chapters, like 'Unto the Breach' covers 'Wrath of Heaven', but stuff I can't fit in the narrative flow easily will get their own smaller chapters. Enjoy.

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand.  _Block with it!_ ” Cullen told the recruit standing in front of him. The young man had lost his sword twice in ten minutes because he forgot the basics. “If this man were your enemy, you’d be  _dead_ ,” the Commander finished and shook his head. “Now pick up that sword, and start over.”

“There’s a pool going on which of them tries to kill you first,” Ser Rylen said as Cullen returned to his side.

“Better that than being loved and mourning dead soldiers, Knight Captain,” Cullen replied. “They need to be prepared for a real fight, but can barely get through a practice one.”

“Well, we can hope this insane idea of yours works, I suppose,” Rylen said dubiously.

Cullen couldn’t help but smile at his tone. “Truth be told; it wasn’t my idea. It was…”

“So, this is what you do now?” Hawke asked as she sauntered over to the two men. “Because it looks almost exactly like what you used to do: stand around.”

“It  _is_  what I used to do, your Worship,” Cullen told his wife politely, “but it’s called supervising training.”

“That may be, but it certainly looks like you’re standing around,” Hawke observed. The Herald then turned to Ser Rylen. “Knight Captain, it’s good to see you again. I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to say hello in the past few days but things have been…busy.”

Rylen smiled and bowed to her. “I understand things have been somewhat hectic, your Worship, but it is good to see you.”

Hawke smiled at him, then gave an exaggerated sigh. “Not you too. And I’d almost broken you of all that ‘your Excellency’ and ‘Viscountess’ foolishness. I hate having my work undone.”

“My apologies, Herald, but we have our orders.”

Hawke turned a disapproving eye on the Commander and said: “I assume these orders didn’t come from him.” The Herald jerked a thumb at Cullen who was trying not to laugh. “He knows better.”

“No, your Worship, but the Ambassador made it clear we’re to treat you with all courtesy,” Rylen told her earnestly.

“Which really means Nightingale told everyone to play nice or else,” Varric said as he walked up. “Good to see you, Rylen.” The Knight Captain nodded to him as he continued. “Now I guess the question is: who are you more afraid of? The Left Hand of the Divine or the Herald of Andraste?”

“Maker’s mercy,” Rylen said, laughing as he looked from Varric to Hawke and back. “You win, Hawke.”

“She usually does,” Cullen muttered then said, “Did you need me for something, Hawke?”    

“Well, far be it from me to observe that standing around…er supervising the recruits seems to be a somewhat sedentary activity.” Hawke told him as she drew two practice blades from her back. She was back in her customary red and black armor, though the Key and the short blade she’d simply named ‘Right’ were locked in their cottage. She flipped one blade easily and continued, “I thought you might want to actually spar.”

“Oh, go ahead Curly. I want to see her hand you your ass again,” Varric put in.

“The two of you will hound me all afternoon if I don’t, won’t you?”

“You know us far too well, Curly, though you know Hawke  _much_  better.”

Cullen flushed as Rylen retrieved a practice sword and shield. A number of recruits had forgotten their training, and had gathered around the Herald and Commander. The story of their reunion at the Temple was all over Haven, and more than a few of its denizens found the whole thing terribly romantic. So this very public scene was being watched with an unseemly amount of eagerness as the crowd formed a loose circle around the pair.

Resigned, the Commander took up his sword and shield, but before he could get into position, Hawke launched herself at him. Cullen managed to dodge by a hair’s breath, and the captivated audience found themselves watching the Commander and Herald try to kill one another.

More of Haven’s residents came down to witness the battle. A practiced eye would have noted that the pair were moving at nearly full speed, and if they were pulling their blows, it was a close thing.

Hawke soon took a blow to the right arm, dropping her weapon to indicate a wound, but kept going as she adjusted her tactics. Then Cullen tried to feign a weakness in his defenses in an attempt to draw her in so he could finish her. But he was a second too slow, and Hawke’s blade slipped through taking him right in the sternum. He stumbled back wheezing.

“You could have pulled  _that_ blow, Hawke,” he told her as he tried to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” she replied, contrite. “I got carried away, but I assume you yield?”

He nodded and she smiled at him cheekily. Her smile faded as Cullen looked out at their audience. This was today’s true lesson.

“In battle,” he said, his voice carrying over the crowd, “victory does not truly go to the strongest or the most quick-witted. It goes to the one who makes the least mistakes. But  _everyone_  makes mistakes.” Cullen’s face was grim as he continued, “and no one is immortal. Make no mistake, should you go into battle you may be wounded, possibly beyond a healer’s ability to fully repair. You may die. You will watch friends and comrades die.” He waited for a moment, letting it sink in before continuing. “Many of you have never picked up a weapon in anger before, so you have not really considered these truths. Do so now, because if you  _cannot_  accept them, then the Inquisition’s military is not the place for you.”

At that moment Hawke picked up the thread of the lesson. “There is no shame in not being able to accept this fact. Not everyone is made to serve on the battlefield, which is something to be grateful for. If you do still wish to serve but feel you can’t accept what the Commander has told you, we can find you another place here.  _All_  members of the Inquisition are valuable to us, no matter how you serve.”

Every face in the crowd was solemn as Cullen said: “Thus endeth the lesson.” Which was the signal for Rylen and the other instructors to herd the recruits back to their training.

“This was your intention the entire time?” Cassandra asked from behind them. Cullen, Hawke, and Varric turned toward the Seeker who made her way through the thinning crowd.

“Of course, Seeker,” Varric said expansively, “You think they’d get all hot and bothered in public like that on accident?” His eyes slid to his friends, who were coloring nicely at this point. “Wait, I forgot who I was talking about for a minute. Curly can be discreet but Hawke's something of a…”

“Varric!” Both of them yelped in the exact same tone at the exact same time.

“They’re disgustingly cute, but you get used to it,” Varric finished as Cullen looked like he was about to strangle the dwarf.

Cassandra glared at Varric then turned to Cullen. “I’m surprised you let him live this long, Commander, considering what passes for his sense of humor.”

“Cullen has a standing policy of not killing my friends,” Hawke said, then her eyes darkened for a moment. “Usually it works out.”

Cullen squeezed his wife’s shoulder, then looked back to the Seeker. “To answer your original question, yes. The three of us planned this.” He gestured to the training field. “Most of the new recruits we’re getting are from settlements in and around Haven, along with some pilgrims. With few exceptions, the only experience they have with weapons would be what might be used for hunting.”

“And outside dragging them to an actual battlefield and making them watch, we thought that this was a good way of demonstrating what a real fight may look like,” Hawke added.

“But why the theatre?” Cassandra asked.

“Because, Seeker, we figured they’d pay more attention to the lesson if it wasn’t a lesson,” Varric said, sounding slightly smug. “Everybody’s been talking about the two of them since the Temple, so why not use it to reel the audience in?”

Cassandra nodded and then gave a small smile, “And if the audience also witnesses the Herald of Andraste’s skill in battle, that is not a bad thing.”

It was Cullen’s turn to look smug. “You owe me five sovereigns, dwarf.”

Cassandra blinked, then turned a glare on the two men as Hawke said, “Varric bet Cullen that you wouldn’t figure that out.”

“I bet Cullen that  _nobody_  would figure that out. Not just the Seeker, thank you.”

Before anyone else could say a word, Cullen let out a pained hiss, and Hawke gave him a worried look, “Another headache?”

He nodded slightly, wincing. “Just the stress. I’ll go to Adan; he should have something ready. Please excuse me.”

Hawke watched him go then turned to look at Varric and Cassandra. “He’s been having those regularly since I woke up,” she said, “do either of you know what this is about?”

Varric shook his head. “He hasn’t said anything to me, Hawke, but now that I think about it, Curly started having headaches on the way here. I just thought it was sea sickness.”

Cassandra looked pensive then said, “It’s the Commander’s place to explain, not mine. I’m sorry.”

Before Hawke could say anything, a scout came running up to them. “Your Worship!”

Miriam groaned and said, “Yes, what is it?”

“There’s an elf here, at the outer gate, asking for you.”

Hawke and Varric exchanged looks. “An elf?” she asked.

“Yes, your Worship,” the scout replied, “he has strange markings and white hair. Says he’s a friend. Fenris, his name is.”

Before the scout finished his sentence Hawke broke into a run, followed by Varric and a curious Cassandra. The Seeker had only met three of Hawke’s friends thus far: Varric, Cullen and Aveline Vallen. That yet another appeared gave Cassandra a chance to sate her curiosity, and a warrior of Fenris’ caliber would be welcome should he chose to stay.

 

* * *

 

Fenris could feel the guard standing beside him relax. The Inquisition soldiers hadn’t known what to make of him, which hadn’t surprised Fenris in the least. But as the young guard saw a smiling Herald of Andraste stride toward them, the tension flowed out of his body. Fenris just stepped forward and took Hawke’s hand in a solid grip. “In trouble again, Hawke? Or is it Herald now?”

Miriam made a rude noise. “Please don’t start. I swear if I get ‘your Worshipped’ or ‘Heralded’ one more time, I’ll go insane.”

“Like anyone would know the difference,” Varric called. “Elf, long time. What are you doing in the neighborhood?”

The elf exchanged grips with Varric, but his face was grim. “I’d heard slavers were taking advantage of the chaos in the Hinterlands. I saw the explosion, and when word of what happened and the aftermath reached me, I decided our beloved Hawke might need an extra sword. Especially since I suspect this Inquisition will be sending her out soon to do what she does best.”

“We’re waiting to see how bad the Chantry panics before I receive any marching orders,” Hawke told him, then noticed that Cassandra was hanging back a short distance. “Cassandra, this is Fenris. Fenris, Cassandra Pentaghast of the Seekers of Truth.”

“Truly? Fenris asked, “Varric neglected to mention your beauty when he spoke of you, Seeker.”

Cassandra flushed slightly. “I doubt Varric said  _anything_  complementary of me, Serah.”

“Ah, but I know Varric rather well, and anyone who could evoke such commentary must be formidable indeed.”

Cassandra tried to find something to say as Varric just groaned. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Elf?"

Hawke intervened quickly. “Let’s get you to the Quartermaster, Fenris, and find you a place to stay. There’s a tavern here. It’s not the  _Hanged Man_ , but we can have a drink and talk. It’s been far too long.”

Cassandra watched while Hawke led Fenris off.

“See something you like, Seeker?” Varric asked nonchalantly.

“What?!?”

“The Elf's always had women falling over him, but I gotta admit. I’d never have thought  _you’d_  be one of them.”

“I am  _not_  falling all over him,” Cassandra said, indignant.

“Of course, Seeker. That’s why you were staring at his ass. Guess it could be worse though, it could be  _Isabela’s_  ass.” Varric replied as he walked off, “so long, Seeker.”

 _The dwarf is mad,_  she thought to herself then glanced down the trail after Fenris, _though it is a rather nice…behind. Not that I’d notice such things. Which I have_ not _!_

 

* * *

 

Cullen’s neck and shoulders ached, which wasn’t helping his reoccurring headaches. But the paperwork scattered over the small table that served as his desk would not get done on its own. At least the cottage he shared with Miriam was a good deal warmer than the tent he’d inhabited previously. His eyes flickered to the bed, and he smiled. There, of course, were other reasons he’d been feeling pleasantly warm lately. Unfortunately, the warmth was disrupted as the door opened and cold night air spilled in. Hawke entered, closing the door behind her and smiled at him

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” she told him.

“And I thought you’d still be out with Fenris,” he replied. “You have no idea how grateful I am he’s here. Someone I can trust to keep you out of trouble.”

Miriam gave him a mock pout. “Varric keeps me out of trouble.”

“No,” Cullen shook his head. “Varric gets you  _into_  trouble. Or you get him into trouble. I’m still sorting out how it works, but if you and Varric are anywhere in the vicinity of each other, I know some kind of mess will follow.”

Hawke sniffed and began to strip off her armor, as Cullen set aside his work to watch. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked as she got down to the padded tunic and trousers her worn beneath the armor.

“Quite, actually,” he told her with a grin, as he turned on the camp stool, his back to his desk.

She racked her equipment, muttering under her breath. “Was he always this bad? I don’t remember him being this bad.”

As she finished her task, Cullen reached out for her, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her to him. He looked up at her with a smile, “You should know who to blame for my ‘bad’ behavior, my lady, and you seem to enjoy it most of the time.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been rather… insistent, recently, Cullen,” she observed tentatively.

“I’d think two years apart would do that, wouldn’t you?” he asked her, but he felt himself tense, all teasing and desire forgotten.

“I’d think that too, but for these headaches of yours,” she said quietly, “And your nightmares are worse than I remember.”

He let go, turning back to his work. He knew where this conversation would lead. And he knew they needed to have it, but Cullen wanted more than anything to forestall it one more day. “Stress, Miriam, nothing more than that.”

“You were stressed just after the Gallows too, and it wasn’t this bad,” Hawke told him. “I tried to get Cassandra to tell me, but all she would say is that it wasn’t her place.”

He groaned, “Which was as good as telling you  _something_  was wrong. I’ll need to thank her for that later.”

She sat down on the bed to the right of him. “Cullen, we don’t keep secrets from each other. Not like this.”

He sighed. It was time, but Cullen found he couldn’t look at her. “When I accepted this position, I chose to stop taking lyrium. The headaches, the worsening nightmares, they’re symptoms of withdrawal.” Finally, he glanced at her face, and he saw what he expected: fear.

“You’re thinking of Samson.”

“Of course I’m thinking of Samson. I saw what withdrawal did to him.”

“It’s not the same, Miri. He never intended to stop when he was cast from the Order,” Cullen said, turning fully to face her. “I knew full well the risks, and it was my choice.”

“Why?”

“Because I am tired of being leashed like a dog. Tired of having it tightened every time I do what is right, and not what ‘the Order dictates’,” he told her, his voice harsh. Then he took a breath and continued more softly. “And I want to remember. I’d rather keep the horror that has happened to me than lose the wonder. I want to remember that first moment on Sundermount. Our first kiss… so many things that would be taken from me if I continued. If I’m to build something lasting for the three of us, I need to break from that life.”

“You could have just told me that in the beginning, you know,” Miriam told him.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh, Cullen,” she said with fond exasperation, “you are such a martyr sometimes.” She leaned in and kissed him. Warmth that had little to do with the small hearth fire, seeped into his veins. She shifted, never breaking the kiss, as she straddled his waist. Cullen moaned softly as she settled against him.

“I thought we weren’t doing this?” he asked after the kiss finally broke.

Miriam smiled at him, eyes dancing. “We talked, things are better now,” she told him, though she cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “It still doesn’t explain your… insistence. I don’t mind of course, but you’re being surprisingly intense. Even for you.”

Cullen very gently stroked fingers down her back, watching her blue eyes flare with desire. “It helps, being able to let go for a while. Besides, it  _has_  been two years, and I’ve missed you.”

She kissed him once more, and his hands moved to her hips, pulling her tight against him. She purred as she felt him growing hard beneath her. “I’ve missed you too. Shall we do something about that?”

“Of course, my lady. As you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm considering Cassandra and Fenris. Not exactly sure if I will, but the idea tickles my inner sadist.


	3. End of the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and company head to the Ferelden Hinterlands in order to make contact with a Chantry priest, and to search for answers to the recent disappearance of the Grey Wardens.

“Now we know.”

Those words, delivered in Cassandra’s Navarran alto, sounded like a pronouncement of doom. It had been almost a month and a half since the Conclave was destroyed, and while the nascent Inquisition was doing all it could, without knowing how the Chantry’s remaining hierarchy would react, their options remained limited.

Hawke slipped into her place at the table and looked around ruefully. “Sorry, I was working with some of the recruits when the messenger found me. What did I miss?”

Cullen shook his head in disgust. “Nothing unexpected, Miriam; the Grand Clerics fell all over themselves censuring the Inquisition.”

“And you, specifically, your Worship,” Josephine told her. The Ambassador was steadfast in her insistence that Hawke be shown every courtesy, even in private. “The Clerics have declared that the Herald of Andraste is a blasphemer, a murderer, a threat to the foundations of the Chantry, and to all of Thedas. Anyone who harbors you is to be considered a heretic.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra grunted. “But we cannot do this without you, Herald, especially now that Solas has determined a way to close the Breach.”

Hawke’s blue eyes swept over the Inquisition’s leadership. “Why do I have a suspicion I won’t enjoy this?”

“He believes that a second attempt could succeed, if the mark has more power. The same level of power that opened the Breach in the first place.”

“What?” Cullen and Hawke turned unbelieving looks on the Seeker in unison.

Leliana, however, nodded. “Then we must approach the mages at Redcliffe for aid.”

“No!” Cullen told her. “The danger we’d be courting….”

Leliana sighed, “Commander, I realize you have concerns because of your situation, but we cannot allow emotion to cloud our judgement.”

“My _concerns_ , Sister Leliana, are not just for the safety of the Herald, but the safety of those in Haven, and perhaps southern Thedas!” He shot back, with the unspoken _follow your own counsel!_

“Commander, we need power. Solas tells me that what holds open the Breach is a complex weave of spells. With enough power, the mark can disrupt the spells and seal the Breach. There is no other way,” the Seeker told him.

“Unless you use Templars to weaken those spells, Cassandra,” Cullen said. “We have no idea what kind of magic we’re dealing with. Even Solas is at a loss about the full nature of this brand. Let the Order do what it was created to do.”

“Pure speculation, Commander,” Leliana told him, her voice hard. “And we have yet to locate the Order in any case.

“It matters little at the moment who we would approach for aid,” Josephine cut in before things could get ugly. “As Leliana said, we have no idea where the Order is, and any attempts to communicate with Redcliffe have been rebuffed.”

“If I were with the rebellion right now,” Hawke mused, “I’d be preparing for a siege. Maker, half of _Haven_ thinks they’re to blame. I can’t imagine it’s any better beyond our borders.”

“True,” Leliana conceded, “but there is something you can do, your Worship. We received word from a Revered Mother Giselle, who is in the Hinterlands tending refugees. She’s offered aid, but wishes to speak with you first.”

“And we trust this Mother Giselle, why?” Hawke asked.

“She was a confidante of the Divine and knows the clerics involved far better than I,” the spymaster replied.

“I’d intended to head there soon myself,” Cullen told Hawke, “We’ve established a small… refugee camp, I suppose, at the Crossroads, and we still need to contact Master Dennet. We have too few serviceable mounts. Most are just plow nags we’ve pressed into service.” 

 “Our scouts have also mapped a number of rifts in the area,” Josephine put in, “sealing them would go far to…”

“To proving I was sent by the Maker,” Hawke said, resigned. She well and truly hated her new ‘dignities’, it made her feel like a liar.

“To proving you can help,” Cullen told her gently, “just as you’ve always done.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” she replied, “but if asked I’ll tell the truth: I don’t believe I was chosen.”

“None of us would try to dictate your conscience, Hawke,” Leliana replied, “It would be a waste of breath in any case.”

“Very true,” Miriam said with a smile.

“You’ll need an appropriate guard,” Cullen said, “especially since I know you’ll be taking Varric with you, Maker help us.”

“I will go with you as well, Herald,” Cassandra told her. Hawke knew the Seeker believed, but she wasn’t sure if Cassandra was irritated with the fact Hawke did not.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” she replied sincerely. “That’s two, and I’m certain Fenris would be insulted if I left him behind.”

“I believe Solas should join us as well, if he is willing, as his knowledge of the brand will be invaluable as we deal with the rifts,” the Seeker offered. “He also may gain further insight into its capabilities.”

“Well then, I suppose this means I need to speak with the quartermaster,” Hawke said, her voice conversational, but her eyes burned with loathing.

The Inquisition’s quartermaster had found herself on Hawke’s bad side when she praised Loghain Mac Tir’s bravery at the battle of Ostagar in the Herald’s hearing. It took Cullen, Varric, and Fenris to keep Hawke from verbally flaying the woman alive. Afterwards, Leliana not so gently reminded to quartermaster that she wasn’t to speak of Ostagar or the late Teyrn, especially now, since Miriam Hawke had served King Cailan on the field that day.

“Why don’t I speak to her, Hawke?” Cullen replied, “Threatening to throw her into the Fade…”

“I was slightly miffed at the time,” she told the Commander with lordly disdain.

“’Miffed’ or not, you have the woman terrified, so I’ll see to our equipment.”

The meeting broke up swiftly after that, everyone returning to their duties. Miriam was about to follow Cullen out the door when Leliana spoke:

“A moment of your time, Herald?”

Hawke turned back toward the large map table, closing the council room door. “How can I help you, Sister Leliana?”

“Just before the Conclave, I attempted to contact the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. My agents found Vigil’s Keep defended by soldiers of the Silver Order, but no sign of the Wardens. According to the remaining senior officers, the Wardens marched out one night without a word to the keep’s regular guard force. I then reached out to the Wardens of Orlais, but they too had disappeared. Ordinarily, I would not suspect, but the timing is… most curious.”

Hawke went still for a moment. “I might know something, but it’s not much.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed, “Oh?”

“Meredith’s sword went missing after the battle at the Gallows,” she explained, “and I knew the Wardens had shown interest in the thaig the idol came from, so I contacted my sister’s mentor, Jean-Marc Stroud.”

“Stroud? I believe I know the family, if not the man,” Leliana replied, “minor nobility from the Fields of Ghislain. They were killed in a move in the Game, if I recall.”

Hawke fought down a shiver. As long as she lived she’d never be comfortable with the causal way Orlesians spoke of brutality and murder dressed as a harmless pastime. “It’s not something that came up,” she said, somehow keeping the revulsion she felt out of her voice. “We kept in touch through Varric’s network, but a few months ago, he warned me there might be corruption in the Warden ranks. After that, nothing.”

“It seems there may be more going on here than we thought,” Leliana murmured, “My agents have managed to locate a Warden by the name of Blackwall. He’s been seen in the Hinterlands. If you could seek him out, it would put my mind at ease.”

Hawke nodded, “Consider it done, but while I have your attention, may I ask you something?”

Leliana’s eyes were guarded as always, but Hawke thought she saw a small glimmer of something. “Of course, but I cannot guarantee an answer.”

“You and Cullen, is there something I should know about?”

That brought a resigned sigh from the spymaster. “I suppose so, though I’m surprised Cullen has yet to speak of it,” Leliana stopped to consider, “Or maybe not. He has spoken to you of your cousin, no?’

“Ugh! We’ve discussed his history with Solona at length,” Hawke snorted. “In fact, _everyone_ who’s ever breathed a word to the Hero of Ferelden is always happy to discuss her with me, not that I’ve ever _met_ the woman.” Hawke stopped for a second as she desperately searched for words that could convey how she really felt about Solona Amell. “It’s annoying,” she finally said.

“I can imagine,” Leliana replied in a light, neutral voice as she stated down toward the Chantry doors. “The Commander believes I am dismissing his concerns due to his personal bias, yet I am allowing a similar bias to shape my own.”

Hawke fought to keep herself from looking like some kind of slack jawed yokel, then she took a breath and said in her most non-confrontational voice: “You and Solona?” she stopped and took a breath, “That explains a great deal.”

“Solona is not my only reason for supporting the rebellion, Hawke,” Leliana told her quietly, “I have many friends, honorable men and women, who are locked away from the world because they are mages. It’s not right.” The bard’s voice rose as she spoke, her passion riding her words.

“I certainly won’t argue with you, Leliana,” Hawke told her. “I remember the lengths my family went to too keep Bethany safe.” She stopped and took a breath before speaking once more. “I sided with the Templars because the mages immediately resorted to blood magic to ‘protect’ themselves after Anders murdered everyone in the Chantry. The streets ran red with innocent blood, and the Templars were the only hope to keep the massive force of abominations at bay. That, and I had evidence that Orsino gave aid to the mage who killed my mother. He used Quentin’s research to become that _thing_ at the Gallows.”

“I had heard rumors, but there was never any substantiation,” Leliana told her.

“By that time there was no point,” Hawke said, fighting to keep her voice even. “Releasing it after the Rebellion began would have seemed if we were trying to blacken the name of the mages, which was trouble we didn’t need as we tried to rebuild.” Miriam gave herself a mental shake; there were more important things to do that dwell on the past. “If this Warden is in the Hinterlands, I’ll do what I can to find him.”

“Thank you, Hawke.”

* * *

 

Cassandra walked down to the training yard and found Fenris practicing on one of the dummies there. His style was one she had never seen before, both controlled and brutal. Hawke had said something about replacing the straw dummies with iron ones. At the time Cassandra thought it a jest, but watching the elf’s sword cut through canvas and straw spilled forth caused the Seeker to reconsider.

Fenris completed the final steps of the form, returning to first position for a moment before shifting his stance. Cassandra had noticed over the past month that the elf never seemed to be ‘at rest’. It was neither arrogance nor fear that kept him poised for combat. It was training, she’d decided. Training so deeply ingrained it required no thought.

Fenris noticed her as he returned his sword to its sheath. He nodded to her in acknowledgement.

“Seeker.”

“Fenris,” she replied in turn as she looked down at the remains of the dummy. “I have never seen a technique quite like yours. Have you ever considered teaching it to others?”

“I have been asked this before and the answer remains the same: no,” he told her curtly, then took a breath and continued in a more normal voice. “I was not taught this style so much as had it inflicted upon me. I would not do such things to another.”

Intellectually, Cassandra was aware of Fenris’ past, and something of his trials, but she’d never truly seen it till that moment as something old, dark, and painful flared in his green eyes. And she felt a certain sickness at the word ‘inflicted’. He’d put no particular emphasis on the word, but that very act gave it such all the same.

“I understand we are to be travelling companions,” he told her, changing the subject with ease. “I hope this Inquisition of yours can do some good in the Hinterlands.”

“This is not _my_ Inquisition, Fenris,” she told him.

“It is my understanding you declared it,” he replied, studying her. “Who is to lead it if not you?”

“It is not my part to lead; I am simply a steward.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed at that, and Cassandra could almost see the elf consider every angle of what she said.

“As you say,” he finally said after a moment of silence. “What matters at the moment is that the Hinterlands require any aid the Inquisition can give.”

“You were there before coming to Haven?” she asked.

He nodded, “As you know, the bulk of the rebellion hides behind the walls of Redcliffe village, but there are many mages who see this as a chance to take what the world owes them for their ‘imprisonment’.” Fenris stopped for a moment, considering something then continued, “At least the mages are honest in their banditry. The renegade Templars cloak their actions in righteousness. I’ve seen them try to murder a woman for not giving them her last crust of bread. Their leader justified it claiming that the truly righteous would sacrifice all to aid in purging the mages.”

“You killed them,” Cassandra said, watching the cold anger rime his eyes.

“Yes, and saw that the woman took possession of their supplies,” he replied with a disgusted snort, “they had more than enough.”

Cassandra felt a twist of shame as she considered what those men and women were doing in the name of the Templars… of Andraste and the Maker. It wasn’t the first time during the rebellion she’d heard of such things. And it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d heard of corruption in the Order’s ranks in general, but hearing a such a stark firsthand account hit her in a visceral way no report could.

“We will put an end to this horror,” she growled, more to herself than to Fenris, but he nodded.

“I look forward to having another opportunity.”

* * *

 

As strange as it was, there was one person in Haven who had known Miriam Hawke longer than either Varric or Cullen. And she raised a hand in greeting to him as she wandered toward the makeshift smithy just outside the palisade of Haven.

“Afternoon, your Worship,” Harritt said with a proud gleam in his eye. The blacksmith had originally come from Lothering. In fact, both Hawke and her brother’s first blades came from Harritt’s forge, so the smith took a proprietary interest in the Herald of Andraste.

 _You’d think he was my father,_ she thought with a slight smile of her own. Hawke didn’t mind his attitude one bit either. He was as respectful as any in Haven, but the pleased gruffness he showed her was a reminder of a simpler time.

“Afternoon, Harritt,” she replied as she leaned on the stone retaining wall.

“Have those repairs done on your armor by tonight. Not sure which of you is worse on your gear, Your Worship,” Harritt said, “you or that husband of yours.”

“Do I detect a note of displeasure?” Hawke replied, smiling.

“Not at all, Herald. Just that he’s supposed to be working with practice weapons, but considering the kinds of damage he gets, I’d swear he was using live steel.”

Miriam made a face. “That’s my fault, Harritt. We’re not using live steel, but the weapons are weighted and we _do_ tend to not hold back,” she said contritely.

Harritt decided not to dignify the comment with anything more than a snort.

“You’ve heard we’re going to the Hinterlands?” she asked carefully.

“Aye, the whole camp’s heard it.”

“We’ll mostly be in and around the Crossroads, but I can try to find out what’s going on in Redcliffe for you,” she said quietly.

“You’ve got more important things to do with your time, Herald, and what I hear already is enough,” he replied. “Don’t want you tangling with them mages if you don’t have to, ‘specially if Redcliffe is locked up a tight as they say.”

“I doubt I’ll be tangling with the Rebellion directly,” Hawke told him and the amended, “at least not yet.”

“Go do what you need to do, Herald, and let the Seeker and all them take care of the rest,” Harritt said, “and you have better things to do than listen to me chew your ear off.” He made a shooing motion and Hawke smiled and gave him a half bow before she headed back to the cottage.

* * *

 

The morning the party left for the Hinterlands dawned clear and cold. Within an hour, Varric had begun to complain, as loudly and creatively as possible, about everything. Hawke was the only person willing to ride with him continuously. The others took turns or avoided the dwarf all together.

The third day out from Haven, Fenris found himself riding alongside Solas. The mage’s supercilious attitude reminded him uncomfortably of a Magister, and there was something that was just _wrong_ with the man _._ It was something Fenris felt before, but could not put a finger on where. So he would do what he had done with Bethany, Merrill and Anders. Watch, wait, and be ready.

Solas looked at him for a moment, then asked, “What do you see when you look at the Breach, Fenris?”

It was an easy question to answer. “Arrogance,” he told the other man.

“An interesting description,” Solas allowed.

“A fitting one. Whether mistaken or purposefully done, it is yet another example of mages reaching too far. Believing power gives them the right to order things as they see fit.”

Solas sat there for a moment, surprisingly quiet, then finally said, “Is that not the curse of all power? Even the best intentioned change can spiral out of control. History is full of such follies.”

“Maybe,” Fenris replied, “nothing in the histories speaks of an opening in the Fade that seeks to devour our world however. But if you’ll excuse me, I think Cullen needs to be rescued from Varric.” He nudged his mount gently and left Solas and the discomfort he felt behind.

* * *

 

As Hawke and her party neared the Crossroads they were met by two Inquisition scouts.

“Commander, Your Worship! The Crossroads are under attack!” one yelled as they got closer, but Hawke was already off her horse, and the others followed behind as fast as they could.

Cullen was the last to dismount, throwing the reigns to the closest scout.

“Take these back to camp! They’re not battle trained!” he commanded as he raced after his wife.

The party plunged into a battlefield of fire, ice and blood. Hawke and Cullen cut down the center of the fray while Cassandra and Fenris harried the flanks. Varric and Solas took to what high ground they could find, covering the rest with crossbow bolts and magic.

The sight of the Herald of Andraste, in her distinct red and black armor, taking the field, rallied the Inquisition’s troops like nothing else. Within moments the tide turned against the renegade mages and Templars who had chosen to use this refuge as their latest battleground. A few dropped their weapons and surrendered, but most of the enemy combatants either died or were scattered.

Hawke turned to face another foe, only to find empty air. The only sounds now were the cries of the wounded and the raucous squawking of the crows who wheeled overhead.  She glared up at the birds, as a dwarven woman in Inquisition scout gear made her way over.

“Lead Scout Lace Harding, your Worship,” she introduced herself. “I hope you don’t mind my saying that we’re very glad to see you.”

Hawke noticed that Harding was eyeing the Key a little warily. The hooked dagger had that effect on most people, so she wiped it clean then shoved it in her belt, along with her other dagger.

“I’m glad we got here in time, Scout Harding,” Miriam replied as Cullen approached.

“Scout Harding,” he said by way of greeting.

“Commander, sir. Corporal Vale is waiting for you back at camp, and I can show her Worship to Mother Giselle.”

 _I wish I were back at the Bone Pit, facing that High Dragon,_ Hawke thought with a sigh. It always amazed her how she had changed. Fighting a legendary beast was now less frightening than meeting with a Revered Mother. _Let’s just hope she’s not like Mother Petrice._

“I’d be grateful for the escort, Scout Harding,” she told the young woman then turned to Cullen. “I’ll see you back at camp, Commander.”

“Of course, Herald,” he replied, giving his wife a half bow, and Harding a nod before he left.

She and Cullen had realized early on that even though their relationship was semipublic now, they still would have to observe the formalities, which included calling Hawke by her new title. She didn’t like it, and neither did Cullen, but as Josephine reminded them, appearances had to be observed. Especially now, with the questions about the Divine’s death and the legitimacy of the Inquisition hanging over her.

Hawke allowed herself to be led to a makeshift healers’ station, and as she closed she heard a soldier refusing to be healed by mages.

“Please, my son,” said a voice in an accent that could only have come from Val Royeaux, “magic is no more evil than a sword.”

Hawke couldn’t help interject herself into the conversation. She knelt on the soldier’s left, across from the woman she assumed was Mother Gisselle, and said, “Listen to her, friend. There’s no reason to suffer when help’s at hand.”

The soldier’s eyes went wide when he saw her, and she knew he recognized her. As the Champion of Kirkwall or the Herald, she wasn’t sure, but whomever he saw in her made him relax a little.

“All right,” he whispered and the healers came forward to do their work. Hawke stood, moving out of the healers’ way as the other woman approached.

“That was kindly done, Herald,” the Revered Mother said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure if he’d listen, but he’s in Inquisition livery so I’d hoped that he would,” Hawke replied, feeling a little uncomfortable, “Mother Giselle, I presume?”

“I am, and you are Miriam Hawke, whom many now call the Herald of Andraste.”

“Including you, it seems.”

The older woman smiled slightly in a way that reminded Miriam of Grand Cleric Elthina, but unlike Elthina, there was steel in Giselle’s eyes as well as gentleness.

 “Your actions as Champion shook the very core of our world, your Worship, and perhaps this is what the Maker truly intended,” she told Hawke, “only mortal eyes could not see what was laid bare for us.”

“I doubt you called me from Haven to debate theology though, Mother,” Miriam said politely.

“You are correct, of course,” the revered mother replied with another smile, but it faded quickly as she gestured for Hawke to walk with her. “I am aware of the Chantry’s denouncement of you, and the Inquisition, and I am familiar with those behind it.”

“I’m an obstacle to the Sunburst Throne,” Hawke said bitterly, “either that or they truly believe I’m a mass murderer.”

“Yes, some of the Grand Clerics see this as a chance to advanced themselves, but most are good women who are afraid. And their fear blinds them, which is why you must go to them. You must show them what you truly are.”

“And that is?”

“Hope,” Mother Giselle said simply.

Hawke suppressed a shiver, and said, “You really believe an appeal will work?”

“I do,” she replied. “The power of the Grand Clerics relies on their unified voice. Show them you are no demon to be feared, and that should shatter their unity.”

“But that means getting at least some of the Clerics in one place,” Hawke pointed out.

“I will give Sister Leliana a list of names of those who would be… amenable to such a meeting.”

It was at this point Hawke started to look for the attached strings. She didn’t like being manipulated like this, even if it was out of the best of intentions.

“I’d have to go to Val Royeaux to address them, Mother,” she told the priest. “I’d be putting my head in the lion’s mouth… Metaphorically speaking.”

Giselle gave a slight chuckle, “That humor will go far to winning the Clerics to your side.”

“To hear my husband tell, it’s my sense of humor that gets me _into_ trouble most days, not out,” Hawke said with a snort. “I’ll need to speak to him, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine on this.”

“Of course, Herald, I understand, and as soon as we can move the wounded to safety I will go to Haven and assist however I can.”

Hawke bowed her head. “Thank you, Revered Mother.”

“It is both my duty and privilege to aid both you and the Inquisition in anyway I can, your Worship,” she replied.

* * *

 

“It’s madness,” Cullen said as he, Varric, Cassandra, Fenris, and Miriam sat around the fire after the evening meal. “It’ll look as if we’re begging for Chantry approval.”

“What would you have us do, Cullen?” Cassandra asked, “The mages in Redcliffe will not open the gates to us, and, according to Corporal Vale, the Templars have returned to Val Royeaux.”

“You think the Templars are returning to the fold, Seeker?” Varric said.

“If Lord Seeker Lucian still commands, I doubt it,” she replied, “I do not see him coming to the Chantry’s aid now after everything that’s happened.”

“In any case, it will take time for the Clerics to assemble once they are called, correct?” Fenris asked rhetorically, “then we have time to deal with the more pressing issues here in the Hinterlands.”

“Agreed,” Hawke said, “if I am going to present myself to the Clerics, I should probably demonstrate my good intent by doing little things like closing rifts and such. That, and I need to find this Grey Warden of Leliana’s. If he’s still in the Hinterlands that is.”

“And I need to speak with Horsemaster Dennet about better mounts,” Cullen added.

“Sounds like we’ve got enough to keep us busy for the next month,” Varric said then he glanced up at the sky, “though I’m not sure we’ve got that long though.”

“Then we do what we can,” Hawke replied, but it was obvious she didn’t like what she was saying.

Cullen took his wife’s hand in his own and squeezed it gently, a reminder she was not alone. She squeezed back and managed something close to an honest smile.

“Enough,” Cullen said, looking around the fire, “it’s been a long day, and at this point we’re chasing our tails.”

Miriam nodded. “Agreed. We should get some sleep; our problems will still be here in the morning.”

* * *

 

It was three weeks into Hawke’s sojourn in the Ferelden Hinterlands when she finally found Warden Blackwall. Cullen had returned to Haven several days after they’d arrived, leading the first of the horses and grooms promised by Horsemaster Dennet. Unhappy about being separated from her husband again, Miriam threw herself into helping the refugees, closing rifts, and hunting rogue Templars and mages. But she hadn’t forgotten the promise she’d made to Leliana, and she had reasons of her own for wanting to make some kind of contact with the Wardens.

 _I doubt he’ll know anything directly about Bethany or Stroud, but maybe he’ll have something that will put me on their trail,_ she thought to herself as her party approached the small cabin on the western shore of Lake Luthias.

They heard the man before they saw him, a deep voice barking out orders at ‘conscripts’ that would have been at home on Haven’s training field. Hawke was about to call out a greeting when she caught the flash of sun on a drawn sword. _Damn! Maker, why couldn’t have this been easy?_ She thought as a group of bandits rushed from a thick stand of trees.

The bandits were well armed, and had been expecting prey. But Warden Blackwall had not been idle, for the bandit charge was answered by a small shield wall made of up of young men in mismatched armor. The odds were still against the farmers turned conscripts, but for Hawke and her company rushing the bandit crew’s flank. The battle was over in moments.

At the battle’s end, Miriam found the man who matched Leliana’s description looking down at the body of one of the attackers. He shook his head sadly, then looked at one of his ‘conscripts’. “Thieves are made,” he told the young man, “not born. Now go take back what they stole.” The youngster nodded and left Miriam with the older man who studied her for a moment. “You’re no farmer.”

She smiled, “No, I’m not, but I’m looking for Warden Blackwall. I’m Miriam Hawke.”

“The Champion of Kirkwall? Here?” he said, surprised, then narrowed his eyes. “And what would you want from an old Warden?”

“Information,” Miriam replied, “The Wardens in both Ferelden and Orlais have disappeared, and there’s concern it might somehow be connected to the death of the Divine.”

“The Wardens and the Divine?” He shook his head, “No, the Order is not political.”

Hawke nodded, “I know, Ser Blackwall. My sister is a Warden, but I was asked to investigate all the same.” She stopped and considered for a second then said, “and both my sister and her mentor have disappeared along with the rest, so I have no one else to ask.”

Blackwall continued to watch her carefully as he spoke, “I’ve been on my own recruiting, Champion. Been that way for a few years now, though no real interest in the Wardens now that the Archdemon is a decade dead.”

“And these ‘conscripts’ of yours?” Miriam asked.

“Will be able to protect their own now without my help.”

Hawke nodded, both amused and impressed. The farmers might not have taken Blackwall’s aid, but his invocation of the old treaties allowed him to train the men without any questions. She thought on that for a moment, then decided to make the invitation.

“Would you be willing to extend that same help to the Inquisition?”

Blackwall looked up toward the Breach for a long moment, “Perhaps you do need a Warden.”

Hawke held out a hand, “I’d hate to try to save the world without one.”

The older man stopped for a moment, then barked a laugh and returned her grip. “Then let’s save the fucking world, Champion.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work and its predecessor, Old Friends owe a great deal to a number of fellow authors on AO3. And I've always believed in credit where credit is due:
> 
> SageFic http://archiveofourown.org/users/SageFic/pseuds/SageFic  
> R2sMuse http://archiveofourown.org/users/R2sMuse/pseuds/R2sMuse  
> LadyDanya http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDanya/pseuds/LadyDanya  
> SaloonMistress74 http://archiveofourown.org/users/SaloonMistress74/pseuds/SaloonMistress74  
> Cal (caltastic) http://archiveofourown.org/users/caltastic/pseuds/Cal  
> dexwebster http://archiveofourown.org/users/dexwebster/pseuds/dexwebster
> 
> Credit is also due to the writing team of Dragon Age Inquisition, especially Brianne Battye who wrote Cullen for DAI, David Gaider, who headed the project. Patrick Weekes, Mary Kirby, Sheryl Chee (Cullen's original writer) and all the other inspired writers of Bioware who brought Dragon Age Inquisition to life.


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